


True love's pain

by A_fighter_like_Eowyn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Angry Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Crying Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Crying Jaskier | Dandelion, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Forehead Kisses, French Kissing, Friendship/Love, Gentle Kissing, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Talks About Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Apologies, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Geraskier Pride Week (The Witcher), Geraskier Ship Week (The Witcher), Geraskier Week (The Witcher), Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Good Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, Good Parent Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Guilt, Guilty Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Heartbroken Jaskier | Dandelion, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier Whump Week (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jealous Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Love at First Sight, Love/Hate, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Pining, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Psychological Torture, Romantic Fluff, Rough Kissing, Sad with a Happy Ending, Shame, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Surprise Kissing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, True Love, True Love's Kiss, Unrequited Love, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_fighter_like_Eowyn/pseuds/A_fighter_like_Eowyn
Summary: When Jaskier comes to, a colossal milk-white wolf is towering over him, its amber-gold eyes glittering like molten pools of lava, fangs exposed in a feral leer."You are in my territory", a deep, rumbling voice echoes inside his head."S-sir Ge-geralt?", he stammers."You will address me as the White Wolf, measly human!", the voice growls.Fresh out of university in Oxenfurt, Jaskier makes his way up north to Kaedwen, to the town of Daven at the foothills of Kaer Morhen Valley, to begin his first job as a lecturer at the Daven Seat of Learning. But scholastic interests aside, he has a stronger incentive - to meet and study the Wolves - Wardens of the Hertch region.He doesn't expect to be swept off his feet by the most famous of them all - Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia. He doesn't expect to fall hopelessly in love with the White Wolf. And he doesn't know how to cope with the heartbreak when Geralt imprints upon Yennefer of Vengerberg, the Sorceress Queen. Jaskier has always known Geralt doesn't love him back - will never love him back - no matter how many times they make love. And now, the measly human is all that stands between Geralt and his one true love. Right?
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii & Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert & Vesemir, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 42
Kudos: 75





	1. Ciri's first glimpse of the past

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, and all my other fics so far, are based on the TV series from Netflix.
> 
> So, since I kind of don't want to face the ire of any of my readers who believes that I hate Yennefer, or that she is the villain in this fic, or any of my other fics - please, she is not. I like Yen, but I find it hard to be convinced that she is the ideal partner for Geralt. She is an excellent woman, and I like her as Geralt's closest friend and confidant and like an older sister (eventually) to Jaskier. In this first chapter, it may seem like she is hateful and horrid, but as I hope to make clearer in subsequent chapters, and as I have hinted at in one of her dialogues, she is every bit as bewildered as Geralt as to why, despite imprinting, they don't seem to click. That they are so abrasive towards each other (which is _my_ impression from the TV series). 
> 
> At the end of this explanation, I hope you will stick around for the rest of the story, and I hope you will havs faith, given that in 4 of my 5 other stories, Yennefer is always so supportive and loving, that I don't intend to cast her in a negative light or demean her in this one. But you have to give me time to write the story and let it unfold.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story will go back and forth a bit, so bear with the timeline I have planned. The next several chapters will talk of the glorious past, before all of us are catapulted into the present and future again :-) This one's a mixed POV chapter - both from Geralt's and Ciri's perspective. Hope you enjoy!

A soft, tentative knock sounded on the wooden door.

Geralt looked up, startled, from where he had been sitting for the past several minutes, his eyes glued to a small wood-carved pendant attached to a black leather cord. Quickly, he pressed down on an unobtrusive spot in a panel of wood on one side of his writing desk, revealing a small hidden compartment with a flap. Gently and securely, he wrapped the pendant up in several layers of soft wool cloth and placed it inside the compartment, then snapped the flap shut. No one would be able to tell now that that portion of the desk was anything but solid wood. 

Hastily, the Wolf brushed away the few droplets of tears that clung resolutely to his long black eyelashes, and splashed some water from the earthen basin onto his face. He patted his face dry, and cleared his throat, but he had no doubt that when he spoke, he would still sound as if his nostrils were congested. He would just have to pretend, like so many other nights, that he had caught a slight chill.

Removing the towel from sight, he called, "Come in!".

The door opened with a soft creak, and the shimmering white head of Cirilla peeked in.

"Baba, did I wake you?"

"No, my flower. Come on in."

The twelve-year old softly padded inside the room, walking over to where her Baba stood with his arms held out wide to her, and wrapped her slight frame around his waist.

"Can't sleep, Baba."

"Want me to tell you stories, bunny?"

"If you aren't too tired, and if you don't mind, Baba."

"Of course not, my angel."

Father and daughter crawled into bed and settled down, huddled together underneath the blankets, and Ciri snuggling into the confines of Geralt's chest. The Wolf tucked her head into the crook of his neck and rested his chin on top of it, and began running his fingers through her beautiful long curls that shimmered in the pale moonlight filtering through the open window. The room was otherwise dark, as Geralt had snuffed out the solitary candle that had been burning low on his desk, in the hope that it would help, along with his own humming and bedtime stories, to lull the little girl to sleep.

"Tell me something new, Baba. Not the usual bedtime stories - those are all rather famous tales from folklore, and I have heard most of them before. Uncle Esk and Uncle Lambert tell the same stories - even Granddad Ves", Ciri said with a tiny pout, her voice a bit muffled as her face was buried in Geralt's chest.

"Oh ha ha, is that right, my darling? Very well, Baba will not tell such banal, commonplace stories tonight. Baba will ..."

"Yes?"

Geralt inhaled deeply, and exhaled with a heavy sigh. 

_Vesemir - Da - had told him that it would perhaps help if he could share the story, if not the burden, with someone ..._

_Could that someone be his own little girl?_

_If not her, then who?_

_Destiny had made sure that he and his Child Surprise found each other, stuck to each other. If anyone had a right to know, if there was anyone he could lean on just a wee bit - just by sharing a vague account of it all ..._

"Baba, where did you wander off to?" - Ciri's voice jerked him back to the present, and he looked down into her emerald-green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. The girl was staring up at him, and her forehead was puckered in a frown.

"Nowhere, my love", Geralt soothed, his hands massaging her back, "Baba will tell you a ... different story tonight."

"How so?"

"It's ... um ... the story of a ... a human and a Wolf."

"A Witcher-Wolf, like yourself?"

"Yes, my bunny."

"And what was the human like?"

"He was wonderful, Ciri! He was unfailingly kind and compassionate, loving and loyal, courageous, charming and cheerful, wise and beautiful. He was fierce and brave when it came to defending those whom he loved."

_Everything I was not. Am not._

"He was the golden sunshine that melts the cruelest of glaciers atop the Blue Mountains with its warmth and love. He was the nightingale that is the harbinger of spring. He was the north star that helps lost sailors navigate their way amidst treacherous seas. He was the calm and tranquility that shrouds the world after the destruction wrought by a tempest. He was the ever-waxing light of the full moon banishing the darkness of the night."

_And I extinguished that light. Forever._

"He sounds absolutely ... absolutely splendid, Baba! Amazing! Lovely! Um ... um ... remarkable! Incredible!"

Despite the pained frown on his forehead (which, thankfully, Ciri couldn't see) and the lump in his throat, Geralt chuckled.

"My bunny seems to be getting good lessons in the languages from Granddad Ves", he said fondly, hugging Ciri tighter.

"No, Baba, please don't digress! This is why you are never able to finish any story in a single night", she complained.

"Oh but my flower, this story is a long one! This one can't be told in one night, sweetheart."

"Then all the more reason to not meander, Baba! Now, please tell me more of this human, and the Wolf. What about the Wolf? What was he like?"

"Dark, brooding, grumpy, taciturn, surly, usually uncouth, impetuous, unkind, too daft and dense to know what was good for him - you know, much like your Baba!"

Ciri stiffened in Geralt's embrace, then prying herself free, raised herself on an elbow and glowered down at her father.

"First of all, my Baba is not anything _remotely_ like that. Do you hear me?"

Geralt marveled at just how much of a tone of unwavering authority the twelve-year old girl could affect in her voice when she so wished. He couldn't help a swell of admiration for his cub - who else could he expect such early promises of leadership skills from, if not the Lion Cub of Cintra?

"But Ciri, I truly think ..."

"You think wrong, Baba!", the girl countered, her voice firm and unyielding, "You do brood, but only when you are troubled by your thoughts. Troubled by the affairs of the world around you, worried for the people you care about. Yes, you often are grumpy, but can anyone blame you? You have to deal with _so many_ unpleasant or taxing duties, Baba! From exterminating vile, dreadful, vicious monsters to maintaining law and order to providing for your people, keeping them employed and fed and healthy and strong - no wonder you come home grumpy at the end of the day! All I want to do is hug you and keep you here with me, and never let you face all those tiring tasks again. And you are never, ever surly and uncouth and unkind - _ever_! Nothing could be farther from the truth! Yes, you have a bit of a temper, but you only show it when there are compelling reasons to. And you, unkind, Baba? You, who risked your life to save me, and adopted me? You, in whom I found a home when I had all but given up hope?"

Geralt didn't have any good comeback to his daughter's rant. He only lay there, staring up at her with wide eyes, trying very hard not to cry.

_Not to mention how similar my cub sounds to a certain someone._

_A certain someone who would have defended me from myself, defended me from the world, no matter how much risk it posed to himself._

"And you are one of the cleverest, wisest, most intelligent and perceptive people I know, and Yen says the same. So please, Baba, don't say such things about yourself. Not to your daughter, not to anyone else. And if you explain to me what "taciturn" and "impetuous" mean, I am confident I can successfully argue why you are none of those things either."

Geralt couldn't help but chuckle softly, and cupping Ciri's face, pulled her down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Alright, alright, but this Wolf - the Wolf in our story - he was all of that."

"Very well. You may continue", Ciri allowed officiously, while burrowing back into her Baba's chest.

"The Wolf was one of the Lords who ruled together a small but powerful country."

"Like you all rule Hertch together, Baba?"

"Exactly like that, bunny. But the human - he hailed from afar. And he came all the way to the country of the Wolves, to begin his first job - as a lecturer in the university there."

"What's a "lecturer", Baba? And do the human and the Wolf have names?"

"A lecturer - well - is someone who teaches at a college or a university. Not, you know, in a school for children. They teach people who are slightly older. You, too, will head to a college once you are done with your schooling here - say, about five or six years from now. Sooner, possibly, given what a fast learner my cub is", Geralt mussed up her hair lovingly, and Ciri giggled quietly, "As for the names - hmmm - let's say the Wolf was called G. And the human was called J."

"Those can't be real names, Baba!"

"Why not, Ciri? Sometimes, stories are about people who are now lost to the depths of time, and no names are remembered. So we give them new names."

"Alright. J and G. Were they friends?"

"At first? Not at all. G was this imperious - that means very arrogant and overbearing, by the way - and very cold and aloof lordling who couldn't stand how relentlessly J laughed, how ceaselessly he prattled on, how eager he was to listen to good stories, how much he loved songs and poetry and good food and good cheer. G couldn't tolerate the ball of energy, of enthusiasm, of undeterred kindness and joviality that J was. Because G was exactly the opposite of that. He thought he didn't deserve love, didn't deserve happiness. He felt he was unworthy of everything bright and beautiful. And J continually, unabashedly, steadfastly challenged that belief."

"I like this J."

"Oh yeah! I knew you would like him, my flower. He would like you very much too."

"Pity they aren't real", said Ciri with a sigh, and Geralt squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, quelling the desperate need to blurt out the truth.

"Indeed", he said, collecting himself, "So, at first, J kept approaching G, offering friendship and companionship and love and warmth, and G kept turning J down. G yelled at J, insulted him, scorned him, shoved him away. But J - J kept on coming. J saw that G was empty inside - sad and despondent and alone and abandoned. And J was determined to fill up that void inside G's heart. He was determined that G be happy and whole again."

"Did G relent?"

"Eventually? Oh yes! J was so persuasive - he absolutely refused to give up - and in the end, his love thawed G's heart."

"Wow! Did they fall in love?"

Someone rapped on the door sharply and loudly with their knuckles, and a loud, clipped voice rang out.

"Geralt, it's Ciri's bedtime. Is she in there with you?"

Without pausing for a reply, the speaker pushed the door open with a slam, and stormed in.

"Geralt, do you _ever_ listen to _anything_ I say? Have I not told you repeatedly that she needs to sleep and wake up in a timely manner? Why is it that you always, _always_ , end up disrupting her routine? WHY?", Yennefer roared, her violet orbs shining eerily bright in the subdued moonlight.

"Yen, it was I who came to B-..."

"You _will_ address me as Ma, just the way you address him as "Baba", am I clear?", Yennefer was fuming now, her eyes fixed on Ciri, who instinctively recoiled further inside Geralt's body.

"Yen, there is really no need to speak to my daughter like ...", Geralt began in a pleading tone, but he was cut short by Yennefer.

" _"My"_ daughter? Just yours? Is she just yours? Is she not _my_ daughter as well?"

"Yen, you know very well that is _not_ what I meant ..."

"No, I don't know that! I DON'T! You behave like you are the only one who cares for her well-being, and that I do not know anything about parenting at all, Geralt! Tell me, would you have been able to rescue your Child Surprise from Nilfgaard's clutches had it not been for _my_ magical skills, hmm? Tell me, would your monster-slaying prowess have been any good against Fringilla Vigo's sorcery? And now, when Ciri is all safe and sound, you claim her to be yours alone?"

"Ma, please! Please don't speak to Baba like that! Baba didn't ask me to come - I came to listen to stories ..."

"You will stay out of conversations that are meant to be solely between your elders, Cirilla!", commanded the sorceress at the now softly weeping child.

With monumental effort, Geralt pushed down his own sobs that were threatening to spill forth, and blinked back his tears. Hugging Ciri tighter, he placed a quick kiss on her hair and wiped away her tears.

"Ciri, Ma is right - you should sleep now. It's quite late. You have to wake up early for weapons practice with Uncle Lambert, and then you have lessons with me on astronomy and geography. Alright? Off you go, my little bunny, and don't you cry."

"But Baba, will you not finish the story?"

"Of course, my angel, but not tonight. I shall tell you little snippets from it every single night, and some day, the story will be done. It's a looong story, but I will finish it. I promise. I won't leave it incomplete, dear heart."

Ciri was still crying and breathing unevenly, but she managed to nod, and not wanting Yen to rebuke her father any further, she slipped out of the warm confines of her father's embrace and tottered over to the door, followed closely by Yennefer. The moment they stepped out, the door was pulled shut with a slam.

Geralt sighed.

_And let the tears come._

Nowadays, there were very few nights he didn't cry himself to sleep. The nights he didn't shed tears were usually nights he had to spend on the alert, anticipating some sort of assault, or attempt of it anyway, by Nilfgaard. Fringilla and Cahir were dead, and Vilgefortz vanquished and his powers diminished severely, but sporadic attacks still continued, and it was important to stay vigilant for Ciri's sake.

_And he prayed, every single night, to Melitele that she allow the pain to stay as raw and excruciating, the wound as fresh and weeping blood, as if it had all happened just the day before._

_To never let the searing, blinding agony subside._

_To never let the Jaskier-shaped tear in his heart mend._

_To never let the hollowness in him disappear._

_Because he deserved it. He deserved to feel it all - again and again - anew every single day - for as long as his miserable existence continued._

_All the things that he knew his soulmate - his Beloved - was feeling because of him - somewhere, to this day. Would feel every single day until the day he died._

The door slammed open a second time, and with a gasp Geralt tried to curb his tears and strangled sobs. Tried to reign in the tumultuous emotions and erase the tear-tracks. Tried to compose his expression into a modicum of calm and reservedness. 

But in vain. Yennefer saw right through it all.

"Do you think I am a sadist, Geralt? Do you think I _want_ to hurt you? Do you think I _enjoy_ yelling at you?"

Her voice rose with every syllable, despite how badly she was trying to contain her rage (which Geralt knew, and his heart twisted even more at that thought).

"Do you think I am intentionally being cruel to you? Do you think I like seeing you cry like this? Seeing you in pain like this? Do you?"

And the startlingly violet eyes started shining with unshed tears of their own.

"No, Yen, no! I know you do not ... please! This is not your fault, Yennefer ..."

"It is though, isn't it? You and I - we are ... we aren't supposed to hurt each other like this, Geralt! We _imprinted_ on each other! IMPRINTED! We are meant for each other - we are tied to each other for as long as we live! Isn't that what imprinting means? We felt it, didn't we? We _both_ did - then why? Why, Geralt, why?"

What could he say? What could either of them say? Geralt pinched his nose and closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and the tears continued unchecked.

"And you - you never ever _try_ to help, Geralt! You are so obstinate, so recalcitrant! Everything must happen _your_ way, right? Everything and everyone must be as _you_ want them to be - why? I am sick and tired of the vanity and delusional conceit of fucking _men_ \- and it's even worse when it comes to Witcher-Wolves like you, Geralt. I am done humouring your bloated ego, Geralt of Rivia ..."

"Yennefer, please!", Geralt's voice broke, "Why are you ... Yen, can we not sit down and talk? Calmly? Do I really deserve your wrath, Yen?"

"You were so sure, Geralt, back then - so sure that I am the one you are meant to be with. You said such sweet things to me - that we will have a family together, that there was no one else you would rather be with. But you never were mine to begin with, were you, Geralt?"

Yennefer had stalked much closer to Geralt, and her voice was quieter and yet far more menacing now, and her eyes glittered dangerously as she looked into Geralt's gold-amber ones.

"You know I have tried, Yen. You know I am trying ...", Geralt's lips wobbled, and his voice held an earnest note of entreating.

"Are you? Are you trying hard enough, White Wolf? Or are you just trying to make sure I stay, instead of leaving and taking Cirilla with me, hmm? Because rest assured, you fucking liar, that if I leave, Cirilla comes with me. She is mine, understood? My daughter before yours, and your Destiny can go fuck herself for all I care. _I_ rescued her. _I_ protected her. You and your Wolf brothers and father would have been burned to ashes by the fires unleashed by Fringilla had it not been for me."

Geralt couldn't bring himself to speak. He was so, so tired - he had lost count of the number of times similar conversations, usually one-sided, had been repeated between him and the woman he had once imprinted upon. He had tried to placate her, reason with her, calm her down, but to no avail. He couldn't even remember anymore when everything had changed between them - everything had soured, had taken on a nauseatingly bitter taste. He couldn't even recall what petty causes Yennefer lost her temper over - what made her become this irate. For several months now, he had taken to silently enduring her enraged tirades, because he knew that no matter what he said, it would serve to vex her further.

_And he knew this was exactly what Vesemir had warned him against._

Little had been known of imprinting among the Witcher-Wolves to begin with. Imprinting was an extremely rare phenomenon. The chances of two souls meeting and recognizing that they were meant to be bound to each other for the rest of eternity were astronomically small. Nobody had expected anything remotely similar to this happening to any of the surviving Witcher-Wolves, much less to their most prominent leader.

So when it did happen, Vesemir - ever the concerned and loving father to Geralt - had rushed to the library in Kaer Morhen - the oldest and most exhaustive and well-stocked in the entire Continent - and immersed himself in a thorough and extensive research of what little accounts existed of imprinting among Wolves of bygone years.

And he had pointed out to his favourite white pup - his darling son Geralt - that nowhere had the scholars and philosophers of ancient times mentioned that imprinting could only occur between potential lovers. That two people imprinting on each other inherently meant that they were supposed to be lovers - supposed to be romantically linked to each other, married to each other, be in love with each other. Imprinting simply meant the tying of the life's journeys - of the fates and futures - of two people. That was all.

But Geralt, upon doing his own research, had pointed out that the few instances of imprinting that existed all involved the two people falling for each other, marrying each other or becoming romantically committed and promised to each other, spending the rest of their lives as each other's partners.

He had insisted that if he were to let go of this prime opportunity that Destiny had brought him - if he denied himself the chance to have his true love by his side, to hold close in his arms as they slept, to live his life with - then he would be a fool. He would be damning himself to an eternity of loneliness and misery.

_It hadn't mattered back then that there already was someone in his life. Someone who had loved him fiercely, cared for him with his entire being, cherished him with his entire heart._

Because back then, he had been swept off his feet by Yennefer of Vengerberg. He had drowned in those violet pools. He had been so enamoured in her exquisite beauty, her razor-sharp wit, her unsurpassed intelligence and unrivalled magical powers, her knowledge and expertise, her indomitable personality - the way she retorted and jibed, the way she was quick to anger and quick to dismiss him, the way she never once regarded him with the submissive awe he so often saw in another's eyes - that he all but forgot about the existence of the human who had loved him so dearly.

He had felt such thrill in being lured in by her lethal, irresistible charms, had felt his adrenaline kick in every time he had tried to outwit her in their daily verbal sparring, he had felt such pride in her as she fought him like an equal in the training yards of Kaer Morhen. He had felt such an overwhelming sense of having conquered something impossibly hard every time she deigned to show him a sliver of the vulnerability that lay concealed underneath all that steely veneer.

He had felt such an intense, heady rush of testosterone each of the nights - rare and precious as they were - that Yennefer had invited him into her chambers, and they had made sweet love - oh so sweet! She riding him all night long, he surrendering to the tigress that she proved to be! And especially those nights that Yen surrendered to him - and lay underneath him - each touch and kiss and suck from him eliciting breathy moans from her, and satisfied growls from him ...

She had been the real deal, back then. One of the most powerful sorceresses of the Continent - so seductive and utterly confident of herself - someone who could unleash chaos and destruction at a primal level when she chose to - and yet, she had imprinted on Geralt, and Geralt on her! Nothing else had mattered! Everything else had seemed puny and insignificant compared to her - compared to Geralt's desire of conquering the heart of this goddess. He had been drunk on the idea of having the chance to worship this goddess all his long life. 

_Certainly, the love of a weak, pathetic, lily-livered human - one who could not even defend himself properly with a knife - one who had already yielded his stupid heart and stupid soul and stupid mind and stupid body to Geralt - had taken a backseat. Had seemed anything but priority._

_Because Geralt was a powerful mutant, and he had been on a quest to win another supremely powerful mutant as his lifelong lover and partner. And he had had no use for an idiotic, loquacious, annoying, measly human. He had had no use for the unrestrained, unbridled love that said human so openly, so honestly and without fuss offered up to him - without him having ever asked for it._

_And so, Geralt had stamped on the human's heart, shattering it, burying its shards and shrapnel into the ground. Had kicked away his love and his devotion to his beloved White Wolf._

Of course there would be punishment. There would be retribution. There would be pain. 

And Geralt welcomed it all.

"You do realize that if I so desired, I could enchant you to act like a dog trained to heed my commands, do you not, Geralt of Rivia?", Yen's voice came out in a malicious whisper, jerking Geralt back to the present, "If I want, I can make you and your entire Witcher family sit naked on the stone floor of the Great Hall and lick your balls and wag your tails in subservience, while I take over the task of bringing up Ciri to be the woman - the ruler - she was born to be. You realize that, don't you, Geralt?"

"Not "realize", Yennefer - I recall. "Recall" would be the right word. I recall very well to what extent you can stoop to exert your authority on all those you claim as yours ..."

The sorceress slapped the Wolf hard across his face. The purple amethyst of the ring she wore on her right hand cut the corner of his mouth and bruised his gums. Blood started oozing out of the deep cut.

Geralt said nothing. He just sat there, his eyes closed, his breathing laborious.

"All I want is for you to change. To become who I need you to be. To be less a monster-slaying Witcher-Wolf and more a suitable husband to me, a suitable father to Ciri. To be the man your family needs you to be. But of course, all you fucking do is disappoint me, Geralt", Yennefer spat, disgusted, and Geralt tried his best not to whimper, "What more could I expect of a wild animal such as yourself? From the monster that you are?"

Whirling around on her heels, she stomped out of the room.

And Geralt of Rivia broke down in sobs.

_I miss you, Jasky! I need you! I need you! I need you!_


	2. The incredible Wolf Lords of Kaer Morhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Geralt and my Jaskier meet for the first time :-) Let me know how you like their first couple of meetings - I am trying to stay true to how the two have been portrayed in the TV series - the grumpy Witcher and the overly enthusiastic and brash and garrulous bard (except that here, his profession is that of a lecturer and not a bard). Also, I very much love wolves, and I included links to some videos (quite short ones - but there are longer documentaries) on wolves and their funny and adorable howls :-) Feel free to check those out in the notes. Finally, the last bit of this chapter is important - not just for the character development of Yen and her bonding with Ciri, but for future references too ;-)

There was a reason why the professors at Oxenfurt used to joke about "Jaskier the perpetually bright-eyed and bushy-tailed".

Jaskier had traveled the entire last month from Oxenfurt, sometimes on horseback and sometimes on foot, sometimes alone and sometimes in the company of merchant troops, all the way to Daven, a prim little town at the foothills of the Kaer Morhen Valley. He had reached the town just that morning, and checked into one of the cottages that were clustered around the huge and imposing university mansions, and where the faculty members usually chose to reside rather than buying or renting private living quarters.

And whereas anyone else would have gone right to bed after finishing off an early dinner, hoping to soothe their sore lower back and their tired, blistered feet, here was Jaskier in the town's biggest and noisiest tavern, sitting and talking animatedly with anyone who was within earshot and who deigned to turn half a ear in his direction, hoping to keep himself abreast of all the happenings in the Hertch area.

"Wait, tell me more! Do you mean to say that these lords - they are _actual_ wolves?", the young man asked the innkeeper, his eyes wide as saucers and the mugful of ale in his hand momentarily forgotten.

The innkeeper, a glum-looking, crotchety old man who had been trying to ignore Jaskier's chatter and focus on wiping dry the glasses and bowls he had just finished washing, sighed at what was undoubtedly the umpteenth repetition of the same question.

"They are Witcher-Wolves, lad. That means they are capable of appearing human or appearing wolf-like at will."

"Wow! I mean, I _knew_ that, of course", Jaskier put on an air of confidence despite how utterly awed and bemused he felt - down south, the line between reality and myths blurred, and one could never quite assert with certainty how big a pinch of salt to take the stories with - then continued, "But, I mean, when they don't appear human - do they, um, really appear like wolves? Like - like _real_ wolves?"

The innkeeper rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to reply.

"And you say that this - this area - it's jointly ruled by them all?"

"More like governed", rectified an old man sitting next to Jaskier at the bar, "They are very different from the usually oppressive, authoritarian, despotic rulers one hears of, down south. They see to the maintenance of law and order, more or less even distribution of wealth and resources among us all, and make sure our sons and daughters are employed and able to feed and fend for themselves."

Jaskier drank that all in, and scribbled furiously in his small notebook. 

"Good. Oh, this is good. I thank you for the details, dear sir. Now, if you don't mind - have you, uh, _seen_ these lords up close?"

"Up close? They come down from their mountain stronghold nearly every day. A bunch of them patrols the borders of Hertch every week. They come to the markets, take stock of the basic necessities - food and wool garments and suchlike. They come up to speak to you too, asking you about your crops and your trade and how your family's faring."

"That - wow - that sounds astounding!"

"Aye", the innkeeper, who was by this time done with his cleaning and drying, joined the conversation, "They are good people - them lords. They take good care of us. The borderlands often suffer from famine and floods and droughts and strange sicknesses, not to mention regular skirmishes - but in here, we are safe. They watch over us common people. Don't ever let us starve."

"The White Wolf is the kindest of them all", added the old man, "Although they are _all_ very magnanimous - they are. He was the one who insisted that the town establish a school and a college for girls and young women who would otherwise have been married off by their parents - and he and his two closest associates often come to give the students lessons in self-defense. Teach them all manners of fighting skills. My own granddaughter has been learning from him. And he gives them lectures on astronomy and alchemy too, every few weeks."

"Not to mention how the Old Wolf - that's the senior-most of them all - has helped build irrigation canals for our crop-fields, and set up a very well-stocked and well-maintained infirmary and apothecary."

"Brilliant!", commented Jaskier, dotting off the i's in the sentence he had just finished scrawling in his notebook, pink tongue peeking a little through his teeth (as it usually did when he was concentrating hard on whichever topic he was researching at that moment), "Now, you mentioned the White Wolf", he said, pointing his quill at the old man, "Care to elaborate, good sir?"

Turned out there was no further need for elaboration. Because at that precise moment, the door to the tavern opened quietly ...

_... and in walked two men - tall and clad in dark cloaks whose cowls nearly covered their entire faces - and slowly made their way towards the bar._

"Watch", said the old man in a whisper, and Jaskier's eyes widened.

The two newcomers casually flung their hoods back, and whereas one was revealed to have hair like spun gold ...

_... the other had long flowing tresses cascading down his shoulders and back, beautifully framing his face, and they were milk-white in colour!_

And Jaskier's heart did a double-take as his eyes slid off those lustrous white tresses to land on the man's face. 

_Could someone be this noble? This handsome? This gorgeous?_

_What chiseled jaws! What a noble nose! What a proud forehead!_

_And those eyes! The way they glimmered like orbs of orange sapphire as they swept over the occupants of the room, keen and piercing ..._

To land on Jaskier.

Jaskier barely suppressed an involuntary yelp and immediately averted his eyes, his face flaming at having been caught ogling this stranger for a few seconds longer than what could strictly be deemed polite. He pretended to focus intently on the pages of his notebook, not daring to look up - not yet - even as he felt the intense heat of those fiery orbs linger upon him for a few moments. The footsteps of the two men approached the bar, and it was all the young professor could do to not squirm.

"My Lords!", the innkeeper and the old man intoned together, and bowed deeply. Several of the locals stood up to greet the Wolf Lords, but Jaskier noticed how none of the people in the tavern seemed to exhibit anything remotely similar to servility towards them. "What an honour!", the innkeeper continued, "How may I serve you today?"

"Just a couple of mugs of ale for us, Barry", said the golden-haired man in a pleasant baritone, a friendly smile lighting up his features, "And this time, we aren't listening to any of your entreaties."

"But, my Lord ..."

"None of that, Barry", the white-haired man spoke in a much deeper, bass voice, and Jaskier's heart sped up just a wee bit at the sound of it, "Last time, we allowed you to give us drinks for free. Continuing that tradition hurts your trade and sets a bad precedent."

Once the drinks had been served, the Wolf Lords perched themselves on a couple of stools next to the counter and began sipping their ale wordlessly. Jaskier wondered how he was supposed to keep his eyes off these two Witcher-Wolves - the first ones he had witnessed in the flesh. So far, he had only had hearsay to base all his impressions on, but now that he saw them up close, his wildest fantasies about them fell altogether short of how mysterious, how noble, how regal and venerable they appeared.

But despite his initial vacillation as to whether he should efface himself or make the most of this unexpected and rather propitious encounter, Jaskier was never one to shy away for very long from trying to make new friends. Or at the very least, new acquaintances. Even if it meant putting his foot in his mouth. 

"Uh, hello!", he spoke, startling both the innkeeper and the old man (they had both been reverently keeping quiet since the arrival of the Wolves, trying their best not to interrupt the silence which the Wolves seemed to favour), "I, uh, am new to this town. I just joined the Daven Seat of Learning as a junior lecturer. Literature, history and mythology - those are my subjects. Can't wait to commence my first job ever ... he he. Um, well, to be honest, classes haven't begun yet - they are still about a week away ..."

He trailed off, wilting just a bit as he noticed the two pairs of amber-gold eyes, underneath incredulously raised eyebrows, fixed upon him, with one pair searing holes in his poor heart.

"Headmaster Albus did mention he would be hiring a new faculty member this semester. Welcome!", the golden-haired Wolf said shortly, dipping his head slightly.

White-hair said nothing - just continued to bore holes into Jaskier with his eerily glowing eyes.

"Thank you! I have been asking these two", Jaskier excitedly gestured at the innkeeper and the old man, both of whom visibly shrank at the possibility of getting involved in any way in this conversation, "All about you! I mean, all about the Wolf Lords! And wow, what tales they tell of you! How highly they speak of you! I am _so_ interested to know more - ever since I was a child, I'd wanted to meet one of you extraordinary, incredible Witcher-Wolves who can transform into humans in the blink of an eye ... well, I am Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz. May this humble human be blessed with the knowledge of your names, esteemed sires?"

There was nothing tentative or hesitant in his voice, nor in his movements as he hopped off his stool and bowed, and his eyes radiated total conviction that his question(s) would be answered. Eventually, at least.

Golden-hair looked at him with a hint of astonishment in his eyes. White-hair's gaze hardened, as did his already-stern face.

Jaskier had heard previously how these Witcher-Wolves were trained to mask their emotions well. He knew he was being rather brash - and yet they showed very little on their countenances of what was going on in their minds. 

"I would advise you not to be a cat around here, Master Pankratz. You know curiosity gets those creatures killed often enough, don't you?"

_Ah! The breaking of ice begins! White-hair speaks, at long last!_

"But I didn't know that wolves had an appetite for cats, now, do they?", the young professor shot back almost immediately, cheeky grin spreading across his face.

The innkeeper and the old man let out collective gasps. Golden-hair's eyes widened in evident surprise and the corners of his mouth turned up in the barest hint of a smile. His amber eyes flitted from the audacious young man towards his companion, and he seemed to be holding his breath, waiting for his companion's reaction.

White-hair's jaws clenched and his face hardened impossibly more, making him appear as if etched out of stone. And he seemed quite literally robbed of speech at the unabashed impudence of this young, frail little human. His eyes flashed dangerously as they regarded Jaskier. But Jaskier, who, usually, was a little too daring (and admittedly a little too dense) to heed danger signals, or give them much importance anyway, ploughed right ahead in the meantime.

"Well, I am guessing _you_ are the White Wolf, right, my lord? Unless there are other Witcher-Wolves out there with such stunning white hair? But is that your real name? I mean, it sounds more like a title, doesn't it? And you, sire? Judging by your hair ..."

"I am called Eskel, Master Pankratz. Nothing fancy, thank you", the golden-haired Wolf slightly inclined his head, a somewhat indulgent smile now appearing on his face, "And indeed, my friend here is the White Wolf. His _real_ name, as you put it, is Geralt. Geralt of Rivia."

"You would be wise not to address either of us as anything other than "My Lord", Pankratz", Geralt growled, shooting Eskel an annoyed glance that Jaskier did not miss.

Before the conversation could continue any further, Geralt stood up, the sound of his stool scraping against the floor loud enough to make every head in the tavern turn towards the little knot of people around the bar-counter. Eskel followed suit, though more sedately, and still smiling.

"My Lord, if you would like, I could show this uncouth, indecorous little ...", the innkeeper began, wringing his hands and glaring at Jaskier, but he was cut short by Geralt.

"Don't bother, Barry. Here, take the coins - no, take them! And make sure to tell Sulik that if he arrives late to this week's astronomy lessons like last time, he is going to be in trouble".

With that, the White Wolf whirled around, his cloak rustling behind him, and strode towards the door, while the innkeeper bowed his head and muttered "Will tell my son, my lord. Will do". Eskel, sparing Jaskier one last inquisitive glance, followed his companion.

But Jaskier, typically, was _so not done_ with their conversation. And so he gathered up his notebook and quill and inkwell, draped his jacket over his arm and, dodging the innkeeper who was clearly trying to stop him, sprinted out the door.

"Wait, please, my lords!", he panted, marveling at the near-inhuman speeds at which these Wolf Lords were capable of moving while appearing to be in no hurry at all.

Geralt didn't bother to even slow his pace, but Eskel paused a little, and turned to face the human who was currently running pell-mell towards them along the slightly uphill, rocky path. That, in turn, made Geralt come to a halt with an exaggerated sigh, and served as adequate encouragement for Jaskier - he flew up the last few steps and nearly fell into Eskel's waiting arms.

"Easy, lad!", the golden-haired Wolf chuckled, his arms still held out in front of him lest he should need to catch the breathless, tottering human, "Catch your breath first. We aren't going anywhere."

"Esk, we have to start the ascent soon", Geralt growled, his eyes glowing in the gathering gloom, irritation evident in them towards this unwelcome interruption. 

"We have time enough for that, Brother", Eskel replied in a soothing tone.

"Sorry, I'm ...", Jaskier tried to be coherent through his ragged breaths, "I'm so sorry, Sir Geralt ... I promise I won't keep you for long. Just ... just wanted to say that it was an absolute pleasure to ... to make your acquaintance ... I know I get carried away a bit in all my enthusiasm ... I'm so sorry if I came across as too forward ..."

For some reason, the young professor felt a compelling urge to explain himself to the White Wolf, who stood staring at him with his brow furrowed in an angry frown. _Did that scowl seemed to lessen a fraction?_

"I was thinking ... uh ... if it's alright with you ... if I could get to know you a bit more - I mean, if I could get to know a bit more about Witcher-Wolves... I was thinking of writing a thesis on the glorious history and the heroic feats and bloody battles ..."

"Master Pankratz", Eskel interrupted the crazed rush of words pouring forth from the babbling human's lips, "We are a reclusive people. We do not really welcome pomp and fanfare about our lives and our deeds."

"Yes, of course, I totally understand ... but there are so many dark and insidious rumours that circulate among folks down south ... so many misconceptions that common people nurture about you all noble, valiant ..."

"Pankratz, we don't need you to come to the rescue of our reputation", Geralt said tersely.

To his surprise, the human, instead of being intimidated and deterred, stood his ground and held up his hands.

"Yes, my lord, I know. I know it does not matter what others may think of you. But won't it be nice to not be treated with suspicion and mistrust? I have heard commoners, merchants and nobles - even in Redania, Temeria, Rivia and Lyria - so you can imagine what they say even further south, such as in Nilfgaard - they talk about the "freak wolves of the north". Mercenaries talk about how they are paid handsomely by local lords to rough up, sometimes even beat to death and purloin from solitary Witcher-Wolves traveling far from home. Locals speak of monstrous wolves luring children out of their homes and snapping their necks off to drink their blood. Taverns and inns refuse them room and board for the night, villages and towns deny them entry, sometimes even threaten them with stoning and public shaming. Tell me, Sir Geralt, are these desirable? Is this the treatment a brave, honourable Witcher-Wolf deserves?"

If Eskel looked taken aback at this mini, impassioned speech from the puny human, Geralt looked like Jaskier had suddenly grown a pair of horns.

"My interest is academic, and I know that writing a book that few would read outside of scholarly circles isn't going to help redeem the image of the Witcher-Wolves among commoners, but perhaps it would be the beginning of something good - may be even a sea change - yes? Besides being an aspiring teacher and researcher, I am an amateurish bard, and I would absolutely _love_ to be able to compose songs detailing the laudable deeds of valour and magnanimity of the Wolf Lords ..."

"Julian, that is very touching, thank you!", said Eskel, and Jaskier knew he was being genuine. 

The human looked from Eskel to Geralt, and if in that moment he resembled a wide-eyed puppy looking for approval, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Geralt stayed silent, brooding as usual. But something shifted in the way his eyes scrutinized Jaskier. The glower did not leave his face, the vexed shimmer did not completely disappear from his orbs. But something was different - barely perceptible though it was - and Jaskier knew he wasn't imagining it.

"Very well", he added, somehow ending up addressing Geralt instead of both the Wolves, "I understand how reluctant you are to grant me permission to get to know you more closely. You do not have to let me in, and I won't pester you anymore. Just one last question, Sir Geralt. Shall I see you again?"

***********************************************************************************************

The caretaker of the residential quarters of the university had expressly forbidden Jaskier from venturing towards the mountains after dark and before daylight. And Jaskier usually made it his life's mission to disobey every order, every caveat that people tried a little too hard to impress upon him.

And so, quite unsurprisingly, he had left his cottage well before the break of dawn, and was currently scrambling, very ineptly and clumsily, up the perilously steep slopes of the mountains that rose from the valley floor, on the eastern borders of Daven. In places the mountain walls were sheer, providing no trail that could be deemed even remotely accessible by humans. From a distance, the cliffs had looked mostly grey-green and mottled with patches of brown - up close, Jaskier discovered that most of them were rather densely wooded, and mighty pines, firs, oaks, cedars, spruces and beeches loomed all around him, their boles of far wider girth than any he had witnessed before. The underbrush also proved to be considerably tricky to navigate through, but of course, the overly inquisitive human persisted, and was rewarded by being able to progress a short distance up the slopes.

He reached a very narrow rock ledge, and paused to rest his already aching limbs. He had gone on few mountain-hikes before, and no one in their right mind would call him athletic. No wonder his lungs rattled with the effort to draw breath, and his calf muscles felt like they were on fire, and he momentarily feared he might not be able to bend his knees ever again.

And it was at that precise moment, as he sat sagging against gigantic tree roots catching his breath, watching the eastern sky turn rosy like a blushing bride, and the mantle of darkness roll back, revealing the misty yet pristine landscape in front of his eyes, that he heard it.

_The faintest of rustles in the bushes behind him. Not very close to him, yet not very far._

The caretaker had not bothered to be specific about the wild animals, especially carnivorous predators, that inhabited these cliffs. And Jaskier, thanks to his usual recklessness and cavalier attitude towards most things considered dangerous by normal humans, had not demanded that she elaborate. 

But right now, all alone in the midst of this sombre, darkly brooding forest, with naught but a short staff he had brought along to help with the climb, Jaskier couldn't deny that he felt afraid. He would be such an easy prey for any lurking predator, especially given how exhausted he felt, and how incompetent he would surely prove to be if he tried to run down the treacherous slopes back towards Daven. He would likely fall and break his neck, before the stalking predator caught up with him.

Not wanting to leave his back exposed for an attack from behind, the professor warily got to his feet, and tiptoeing back to the non-existent trail that he had scrambled up along, peered around the smooth grey trunk of a towering beech tree. And what he saw took his breath away.

_Three huge wolves._

_Huge. Colossal. More massive and majestic than any wolf he had ever seen before - real or in the pages of a book._

_One a drab brown colour, flecked with darker patches of black and lighter patches of pale ash._

_One of a brilliant golden hue, with a ruddy coppery undertone._

_And the third the purest white possible._

The wolves had their backs turned to the human, and were clearly in the process of scaling the mountains, their destination located somewhere far, far higher up. Jaskier wasn't sure if they had caught sight of him, or heard him (he certainly hadn't been trying to stifle the sounds of his laboured breathing a few minutes back). The human stood rooted to the spot, stupidly gaping, unable to move a muscle as his mind grappled to comprehend the sight in front of him. 

No way were these ordinary wolves. He knew that as surely as he knew that the sun rises in the east. 

What he did not know at all, however, was whether, in wolf-form, these beings posed any threat to humans. The dwellers of the valley rarely ever dared to venture into these woods - indeed, they seemed quite content to give the cliffs a wide berth, though Jaskier suspected that it was more out of reverence than any real fear of physical harm. And he knew _he_ was the intruder here - he had come to these woods despite being direly warned by the caretaker - and he would have no good excuse other than his obnoxiously nosy character should he get caught now.

As he watched, trying to melt into the foliage around him and hoping the wolves would be too busy climbing to divine his presence, for a moment, he felt like his wish would be granted. The three wolves padded away from him in unison, intent upon reaching their destination far above.

_But then, the white one came to an abrupt halt. And his companions paused in their tracks as well._

_Lifting his muzzle to the air, the humongous white wolf sniffed, and Jaskier's heart sank._

But then, he seemed to dismiss whatever it was that had made him pause, and resumed his climb. Jaskier let out a silent sigh of relief. 

He waited until the wolves had disappeared completely from view, and then some. Once he was absolutely sure there was no way he would alert them to his presence, the young professor turned around, and began his trek downhill - a task far more challenging than climbing up, given how near-vertical the gradient was in several places, and how the loose dirt and pieces of shale underneath his feet kept trying to make him slip.

And he did slip. 

Ten minutes into his very gingerly undertaken and consequently extremely slow descent, Jaskier's feet skidded down a particularly treacherous strip of ground and he fell with an echoing cry, plummeting towards what he was sure would be his untimely death, or at the very least grievous loss of limbs ...

_... until he felt the wrist of his right hand caught in a vice-like grip._

And dangling like a marionette whose strings had been snipped, his torso barely attached to the cliff and his feet feeling nothing but air, Jaskier looked up to see who his saviour was ...

_... and found himself staring at Geralt._

The White Wolf looked absolutely livid with fury. His jaws were clenched with the effort of holding on to Jaskier's weight, and his eyes burned with a lurid glow. And despite how precariously he was hanging off the precipice, not yet safe from the possibility of imminent death or debilitating injuries, Jaskier realized just how much his heart started racing at the sight of that face.

_He couldn't fathom the emotions that surged through him._

_It was strange. Undeniably, there was awe and deep, sincere respect. A healthy dose of fear and apprehension as well. And then, there was something else - something altogether different - something that was both exhilarating and unnerving at the same time._

With a grunt, Geralt hauled the human up and helped him regain his footing. 

_And held on to his hand._

"You fucking moron! Didn't anyone tell you to stay the heck away from these mountains? You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse, you stupid, stupid human", he spat, furious.

"S-sorry! I am so sorry, Sir Geralt ...", Jaskier could not keep the tremor out of his voice - he was still shaking from the near-death experience - and he could not help but lean on Geralt, holding onto his hand tighter.

"Don't apologize! You won't be receiving any forgiveness - not from me. You have absolutely _no_ right coming here, nosing around, you idiot! Especially when you cannot fend for yourself - do you even have the slightest experience climbing mountains? Are _those_ the kind of shoes you should wear when going mountaineering?"

"N-no, s-sorry ..."

"I said, don't apologize!", Geralt barked, and Jaskier jumped.

The human stood there, hanging his head.

_And his hand stayed in the secure grasp of the White Wolf's own - neither of them making the slightest move to let go of the other._

Geralt stood glowering at Jaskier. When it became clear that the human had finally - _finally_ \- been rightfully scolded into temporary silence, he huffed, then shook his head.

"And now, I have to help you all the way down."

"N-no no! I-I'll manage, somehow ...", Jaskier began feebly, and was instantly reprimanded back into remorseful silence.

"And slip and fall again, and break your neck this time? Hmm? Is that the reason why our university hired you, Pankratz? So you fall to your death instead of teaching our students and making a difference with your research? Do you presume to think, you foolish, impetuous little human, that I am going to allow that to happen on _my_ watch?"

Geralt glowered some more, and Jaskier withered under his fiery gaze. Then, without another word, the Wolf began making his way downward, the human in tow, their hands clasping each other tightly.

"Step exactly where you see me stepping, and don't try to rush - take your time", came the stern (yet somehow not at all unkind) instruction, and Jaskier nodded hastily.

The rest of their journey down was thankfully uneventful, the human's hand now sweaty in the Wolf's much larger, calloused one. Once their feet touched plain land, Geralt let go, but did not leave immediately.

"You _will not_ try to come anywhere within a mile of these mountains. Do I make myself clear?"

"Wh-what? But, I really want to ..."

"Do you understand, Pankratz? These mountains are not safe in any shape or form for humans - much less someone like you who seems to have no experience whatsoever about mountainous terrains. There are worse things up here than your average wild animals. Do I have your word?"

Jaskier kept his eyes downcast - he was never one to lie, and never one to make a promise he was unsure he would be able to keep.

Geralt sighed, correctly gauging the reason behind the lack of response. He stepped closer to the young professor, and Jaskier registered how the movement made his heart speed up.

"Julian, look at me."

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat at the way his name - his given name - rolled off the White Wolf's tongue, and slowly, he looked up.

"I need you to promise me that you will not come here alone. Certainly not during the dark hours, and not even during the day unless you are accompanied by someone who knows the foothills in this area sufficiently well. Even that I would discourage, unless the need to come here is dire. These mountains are inaccessible to humans. Do you understand?"

Jaskier was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with Geralt - the White Wolf's eyes bore a gaze too intense for the young human to endure. But after several moments, he gulped, and managed to nod.

"I may not be here to ensure your safety next time, Julian. Please, do not come here if you can help it. It's not safe."

"I won't. You have my word, my lord."

Geralt seemed to weigh the sincerity in those words for a moment, then nodded. "Off you go", he said, waving a hand in the general direction of Daven.

"Thank you, Sir Geralt. Thank you for saving my life today. I ... I'm sorry ... even if you do not forgive me. I ...", Jaskier sighed, and ventured a glance up at Geralt's face, "Shall I ... may be ... um ... see you in the tavern again? This week?"

The Wolf's expression softened infinitesimally.

"You will."

******************************************************************************************************

Kaer Morhen was nestled in the arms of the tallest of mountains in the Continent. The bastions and spires of the fortress rose impossibly high, rubbing shoulders with the clouds overhead. 

Ciri absolutely loved craning her neck and watching how the upper storeys of the keep vanished in the canopy of clouds that almost perpetually wreathed the summits of these cliffs. What she enjoyed even more was stepping outside the fastness of the keep's walls and making her way down the slope, only a small fraction of its entire altitude, and sitting quietly amidst the trees, occasionally looking up through the foliage to glimpse the fortress looming above her.

But she was never allowed to leave the stronghold alone. Geralt had made it an utterly non-negotiable rule, and this was one of the few things about Ciri's new life that Yennefer had fully agreed with him on.

"The mountains and woods around Kaer Morhen are never safe for humans, let alone a fugitive princess, baby bunny", the White Wolf had told her, hugging her close as if he was afraid she might be taken from him, "Please - promise me you will never go out there alone? Please, sweetheart? Take me with you, or Ma, or Uncle Esk or Uncle Lambert, or any of your other Wolf uncles, alright?"

"I promise, Baba."

And she had kept that promise so far. Today, for instance, after her lessons with Geralt and a brief lesson with Uncle Eskel on political diplomacy, she had made her way down perched on the back of Uncle Lambert, who had transformed into his shaggy brown wolf-form. Ciri absolutely loved Lambert's coat - the way it was patterned with light ashen patches and spots of black. She had clutched onto his long mane and laid flat upon his back, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath her as he had carefully picked his way down the mountain.

She currently sat on a big, rounded boulder, her back to the trail they had come down along, munching on the honey cakes she had brought wrapped in a handkerchief. Lambert lounged nearby in his wolf-shape.

Ciri heard a soft swish behind her, and turned around to find Yennefer walking daintily towards her down the slope.

"Morning, Ma!"

"Morning, baby!", the sorceress smiled, her violet eyes reflecting the sunlight beautifully, and perched herself on a rock next to Ciri's. 

"I wanted to take a bit of a break before coming to our lessons together", Ciri explained, offering Yen a big slice of honey cake, which she accepted with thanks.

"Well, if you like being outdoors in the sun - and I have to admit that today, it's especially beautiful out here - we can start right now. Right here."

"Really?", the girl's eyes sparkled in joy as she looked at Yen, her tone holding a hint of disbelief. Yen was usually rather strict about where and how to conduct their lessons - it was not easy to introduce a girl as young as Cirilla to the basics of controlling her powers and channeling them in ways that would serve her best given the immensity and unbridled potential of said powers, and Yen, understandably, sought to make the experience as free of external disturbances and interference from the elements as possible.

Yen's heart gave a painful twinge - she had not meant to scare Ciri, nor yell at Geralt, the night before, and she had always tried her best to be lenient and reassuring while teaching her daughter the rudiments of magic and chaos. But she herself had been shown little leniency as a student back in Aretuza, and her mentor Tissaia had made sure she was moulded into a rather no-nonsense and far too pragmatic and austere woman. She often forgot how young and inexperienced Cirilla was, and ended up pushing her too hard. 

"Baby, I ...", the sorceress began, a rare note of hesitation creeping into her usually utterly confident and cool voice, and she took Ciri's hand in her own, "I hadn't meant to yell at you, or Baba, yesterday. It's just ... Baba and I had a disagreement earlier in the day, and I was angry ... these days, I am so often angry ... and my patience wears thin far too easily ... I know I hurt both you and Baba - I am so sorry, sweetheart ..."

Ciri shuffled closer and burrowed into Yennefer's lap.

"It's alright, Ma. I know. I am not mad at you. I am sorry I give you so much trouble during the lessons ..."

"No, you do not, Ciri. You never do. And ... and it's okay if you wish to call me Yen. You don't ... have to call me Ma, if you don't feel like ..."

Ciri giggled, and Yen frowned at her quizzically.

"It's not that - not at all, Ma. It's just - you look too young. I mean, I _know_ you are not - I mean, you are not as young as you look - Baba did tell me - both of you are - I mean, quite old ..."

She trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to continue, and it was Yennefer's turn to laugh.

"Well, that's cleared, then. And it's okay to say I am very old - indeed I am, Ciri."

The two sat in companionable silence, Yennefer occasionally rolling her eyes at how studiously Lambert ignored their conversation despite his extremely heightened sense of hearing.

"Ma, I don't think I am learning how to control my powers fast enough."

"Fast enough? Whatever's that? You'll learn at your own pace, baby ..."

"No, but, it's been days! I've spent days trying to focus my energy ... just trying to make a single flower bloom, or move that tiny dice even an inch, or levitate the lightest feather - none of it has worked so far, Ma! None! How can you say I'm making any progress ..."

"Some day, Ciri, I shall tell you about my first few weeks in Aretuza, and you will know how wrong you are about you not being competent enough."

Ciri didn't seem very convinced, but she let it pass.

"Well, here's an idea", Yen began, lifting Ciri's face up, "How about you tell me about the things you want to learn? Tasks you wish to accomplish using your magical abilities? May be they will prove too hard and complex to perform at this stage, but perhaps I can glean from them how best to guide you, motivate you?"

"Alright. Well", the young princess pondered for a moment, "How about seeing the future in a crystal ball?"

Yen barked a laugh, and Lambert let out a curious gurgling sound that could only be described as a Wolf's version of a snigger.

"Whoever said one can see the future in a crystal ball, Ciri? Those are just old wives' tales. The future is continually shifting, changing, morphing - it's never set in stone. There are uncountably many possibilities out there, and even the smallest of our actions - the most inconsequential of decisions that we take - every moment of every day, influences and shapes the future. It is nearly impossible to see all these possibilities at once. And of them all, only one shall come to pass. Of all the sorceresses I know of, only Sheala de Tancarville - perhaps the most powerful of us all - has ever been able to truly see a few glimpses from the future - that too vague and blurred and open to interpretations."

"Oh!", Ciri's face fell a bit, "Okay, then - how about being able to see the present? I mean, not what's happening here in Kaer Morhen, but somewhere far away? Let's say, I wish to see what Uncle Mousesack is up to, today. I wish to see how he is ruling Cintra in my stead. Is that possible, without traveling anywhere?"

"Ah!", Yen's voice took on a note of admiration, "Yes! This, indeed, is possible. You can focus your concentration and your powers to check on a certain person - usually someone you have gathered a fair amount of information about - even though he or she is far away from you, without you having to leave your study, or your bedroom, say. But this is very complex and advanced magic - you need to learn and practice a fair bit before you can progress to that level."

"Oh!"

"And I shall help you all the way. You _will_ learn it, and you _will_ be able to apply it. Don't you worry, Ciri. That's a promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely LOVE wolves. I wanted to share some amazing videos of wolves howling (and how at the same time they are both adorable and terrifying LOL):  
> 1) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUpQFMEb9po  
> 2) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhQGo2IdA9s  
> 3) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Gf7jgsx9CU
> 
> By the way, just a couple of things I wanted to point out. For fellow Harry Potter fans, you can see what I borrowed here from those amazing books. And for people other than fellow mathematicians on this forum - you won't find the word "uncountable" in the dictionary, but it's an actual concept :)


	3. Of songs and stars and silly little intimate moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which songs are sung to pour one's heart out, and ice is thawed, and hands are held, hugs are initiated (barely), and little conversations take place while sitting side by side underneath starry skies. Only one timeline in this one, since it has already become a long/longish chapter. Do let me know in your reviews / comments what you thought of the poem LOL :-D

Patience wasn't Jaskier's strong suit. He could muster plenty of it when he was immersed in his research and studies, composing new songs or penning new poems, but _not_ when it came to an eagerly awaited meeting.

Not to mention that it had been nine days. _Nine very, very long days._

He had visited the tavern every single day for the last nine days, arriving before the earliest patrons began trickling in, and leaving well after dark, finding himself among the last handful of people to exit (most of whom, other than Jaskier himself, had been thoroughly intoxicated and had required the innkeeper to physically throw them out before he slammed the door on their faces). Every single evening, he had seated himself at the bar and angled himself so that he could keep an eye on the tavern-door at all times. He had jerked and looked up from his scarcely touched drink every time he had heard the creak of the wooden door being swung open. He had whirled around in his seat every time he had heard the tread of heavy boots approaching the bar. He had glanced so frequently towards the entrance of the tavern that onlookers had wondered if he had developed a crick in his neck. 

And every single one of those nine evenings had turned out to be a sore disappointment. Every time his breath had caught in his throat upon glimpsing a streak of silver-white, it had only been some lady sporting a fancy scarf woven in shimmering silk with a mother-of-pearl sheen. Every time he had heard someone's deep voice he had craned his neck, hopeful eyes frantically searching for the source of the sound. He had pointedly ignored Barry's knowing glares. Even the old man from his very first visit to the tavern (whose name he had come to learn was Arum) had watched him curiously as he had fretted and fidgeted and appeared increasingly fractious. 

Jaskier knew he was being utterly puerile and petulant. He had no right to feel this way - the utterance of a flimsy, casual "You will" could hardly be counted as a promise of any sort, nor was he anyone important or entitled or close to a certain someone that he could simply presume to have his wish for a meeting granted. 

And yet, here he was, practically quivering with impatience, a strange sort of aching hurt mixed with a hint of resentment starting to take root in his heart. He had no business feeling let down and left alone, but he just couldn't make his stupid heart listen to reason.

At last, on the ninth day, which was a Thursday, as the opening hours of the tavern were drawing to a close and just a scant few inebriated patrons remained behind, heads drooping, softly snoring through their drunken stupor, Arum came to sit next to Jaskier. The professor sat looking utterly glum and dejected, his elbows resting on the counter and his chin cupped in his upturned palms, his eyes, unfocused and glassy, staring into the dregs of pomegranate wine in the tankard he was yet to hand back to Barry to wash.

"Why so morose, Master Julian?", Arum asked with a soft smile, a hand coming to rest on the younger man's back, "No need to mope, son. He'll be back soon."

Jaskier was jolted out of his reverie as if someone had doused him in a bucketful of iced water.

"Wh-what?! Wh-what d-do you m-mean?", he stammered.

"The White Wolf's been out of town - he and Lord Eskel and Lord Rennes left for their monthly inspection of the borderlands, but they'll be back soon", Arum explained, the hint of a knowing smirk on his face.

"Oh! I mean ... I wasn't ...", Jaskier began protesting feebly. 

"You weren't moping for him?"

Jaskier had never quite succeeded in not wearing his heart on his sleeve. He gave up trying to deny it, and sighed.

"Do you ... um ... do you know when he will be back? I mean ... I know he's super busy ..."

"Just have patience. And don't you sulk, young man. Tell me, is it true what they say? That you are a most accomplished singer and composer?"

"No no ... nothing like that ... just ... I love music and poetry ... he he ..."

"Well, why don't you sing for us tomorrow? Everyone will be coming in to relax and enjoy a drink or two since it's Friday. I think they will be grateful if you perform a little for them."

And just like that, the melancholy demeanour disappeared. The slump of the shoulders and the sullen pout both vanished, to be replaced by a dazzling smile.

"Do you really think - I mean, I am no professional - would they really like me to ..."

"Absolutely, lad! We here are a humble folk, and we don't look a gift horse in the mouth. We are seldom visited by bards and troubadours, given how remote the Valley is, and the false rumours about us and our Lord Wolves that run rife down south. We would love to listen to you, whatever you choose to present, Master Julian."

***********************************************************

Jaskier slung the lute over his shoulder and ran his fingers experimentally over the well-oiled strings of his beloved instrument to make sure it was tuned appropriately. He was just a wee bit nervous, to be honest, but the excitement and anticipation overrode the unease easily enough.

Not to mention how absolutely thrilled he was to perform the song he had composed just the evening before.

After Arum had made him the offer to perform for the townspeople that Friday evening, Jaskier had bolted home. He had several songs in store for any such performance, but this time, he had wanted to sing something special, and that had taken him the better part of the night to ready. Not that he expected anyone to understand what he was _truly_ on about once he began singing his new composition. Especially since he had made sure, right after entering the bar, that a certain someone was not likely to grace him with his audience (causing Jaskier to feel equal parts relieved and disappointed). 

"Ahem ahem", the professor ostentatiously cleared his throat, and his sweeping bow was greeted with loud cheers and shouts and several of the already drunk townsfolk banging their tankards on the table, "Thank you! Thank you so much! It's an absolute honour! May I present to you all lovely people of Daven, for the first time ever ..."

The lute came alive under the gentle ministrations of his dexterous, nimbly prancing fingers.

_Forget not to thank life for all the gifts it brings,  
For the magic it weaves, the surprises it springs!  
How it unfurls the path for your feet to tread,  
Leading you to joys unprecedented!_

_Lonesome, woeful, I pined who knew for whom -  
But 'twas life's plan to banish my heart's gloom.  
It sent forth a rose, of purest milk-white -  
Abloom, it filled me, glorious and bright!_

_It sent forth at dawn the palest sunbeam -  
Pristine, untouched, with the softest gold sheen -  
It broke through the mists of a wintry morning  
Thawing the ice, welcoming the first sprouts of spring! _

_The ebony drapes of the night are forced to give way  
To brilliance undimmed, as amber flames hold sway  
Over my heart - I stand awed, suffused in golden glow,  
Bathed in soothing warmth, in love's endless flow!_

_Darkness flees as waters of my heart's joyous stream  
Frolic, shimmer as quicksilver in a gossamer moonbeam;  
Sublime silver-white - the night's awash in its gleam,  
It permeates through me, envelops me like a dream!_

_Like lilies of the valley with delicate blossoms galore,  
Or snowdrops and snowflakes dotting the forest floor,  
Like the white-crested waves that lash upon the shore,  
Life's opened wide the doors to happiness like never before!_

Jaskier's heart was soaring, and his soul was one with the song, with the melody that he coaxed out of his precious lute. From the very start, he had been so utterly enamoured in the lilting, sprightly notes and the lyrics that so cleverly masked the identity of the individual the song was meant to shower his affections and admiration on, that his senses had completely failed to perceive the quiet new additions to his rapt audience. 

Which was why he nearly gasped and dropped his lute when, upon concluding the song to thunderous applause and deafening cheers and whoops from the audience in front of him, he gracefully turned around on the spot to bow to those who sat or stood _behind_ him, and ...

_... to his shocked dismay, found himself staring straight at Geralt!_

Well, fuck!

The White Wolf, accompanied by golden-haired Eskel and dark-brown-maned Rennes (Jaskier was guessing from the information he had received from Arum), had apparently entered the tavern at some point midway through the song, and their usual elegant, nearly soundless footfalls (despite how much larger and brawnier than ordinary men they appeared) and Jaskier's back turned to the door had conveniently allowed them to make their way unobtrusively to the bar-counter. They now lounged on tall straight-backed chairs with spindly legs, drink in hand, expressions intent as they listened to Jaskier's performance.

And currently, a certain pair of amber-gold eyes held Jaskier's own cornflower-blue ones helplessly captive, thoroughly addling his brains, refusing to relinquish their hold on his heart, refusing to let him look away even for a moment.

And it was all Jaskier could do to not drown in those molten pools of gold.

"Master Julian, you spin magic with your words!", Eskel said, voice raised to be heard above the din in the tavern as people continued to clap and thump and cheer, a truly genial smile lighting up his features, "Absolutely lovely! You should play for us all more often. Come, join us - you have surely earned yourself a drink."

Jaskier broke himself free from the riveting gaze he had been caught in with considerable effort, and made himself look at Eskel with a beaming smile.

"Thank you, Lord Eskel, thank you! I am so, so honoured! I am so happy you enjoyed my humble performance."

He made his way to the bar, trying not to melt as gold irises continued to follow his every minute move. Barry, who seemed surprisingly mellowed out upon hearing the professor's song, flashed him a wide grin and slammed a tankard of honey-mead down on the counter. Jaskier picked up the drink, then smiled innocently up at the Wolf to whom he was yet to be introduced, studiously ignoring the one who stood looming next to him, fiery gaze searing into him. 

"Hello, my lord! I am Julian - Julian Alfred Pankratz - newly recruited as a lecturer at the Daven Seat of Learning."

"Geralt mentioned you, Julian. It is an honour to make your acquaintance. I am Rennes. Welcome to Daven", the Wolf inclined his head, his stern features softened by what seemed like a smile threatening to spill forth, but somehow remaining locked underneath the surface.

_Geralt mentioned you._

Jaskier's heart leaped high for some reason.

They chatted for a few minutes - Eskel proving to be the most convivial, Rennes polite but reticent, and Geralt opting to stay completely silent, eyes blazing (making Jaskier squirm). Jaskier felt awed and a tiny bit intimidated by the dark bushy eyebrows and the perpetual scowl (which seemed to be directed at no one in particular) on Rennes' face. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for him (and a small, unacknowledged part of his mind would've wagered anything that he was not alone in this predicament) to stay composed and continue engaging in small talk. And just when he was getting desperate looking for an out ...

"Care to go for a walk, Pankratz?"

Jaskier's timid eyes finally - _finally_ \- dared to make contact with the White Wolf's, and suddenly the room seemed to become unbearably hot and devoid of breathable air.

"Y-yes, my lord. That would be an honour."

A few minutes later, Jaskier found himself strolling down the pebbly path that led from the tavern towards a lovely little lake surrounded by a copse of trees, away from the centre of the town, his heart beating at a far faster pace than usual as he glanced every so often at the White Wolf striding alongside him. He hadn't managed to muster up the courage to break the silence yet, and a tiny part of him still wallowed a bit in the hurt of not having been allowed to see Geralt for more than nine whole days.

"You ... sing well, Pankratz", Geralt said briefly, not looking at Jaskier.

The tiny, resolutely sulking part of him flared up at that.

"I hope your ... borderland inspection went well, my lord", he said, unable to help himself from pouting and keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

And that made the White Wolf pause in his tracks.

"Who told you?"

"Arum", came the slightly clipped answer, accompanied by Jaskier crossing his arms and turning his back to the Wolf, trying to hide his expression from Geralt.

There was a brief pause, before Geralt sighed.

"The inspection ... it usually doesn't take this long. But this time, there were a few outlaws disrupting peace, and ... we had to intervene."

Jaskier said nothing. He knew Geralt would never make pretexts, and being one of the chief governors entrusted with the care of such an enormous region meant the Wolf had to shoulder numerous responsibilities. But all that reasoning did nothing to alleviate the hurt that still tried to coil upwards, pushing through his chest.

"Julian ...", Geralt's voice came out deeper and softer and somehow even richer than usual, almost enough to make the young man's toes curl, "I'm ... I'm sorry you had to wait."

And somehow, those few simple words were enough. Enough to soothe over the raw hurt, over the way Jaskier had missed Geralt - missed him, pined for him, desperately called out to his heart from deep within his own, and never admitted any of that to himself until this moment.

With a shy smile and eyes shining just a teeny bit wetly, the professor turned around to look at Geralt. "No, _I'm_ sorry - I should've known how busy you are ... you must be. It's just that ... um ... I ..."

He was saved from the embarrassment of having to confess how badly he had missed Geralt by the White Wolf himself.

"I know. Just ... know that I try my best to keep my promises", and with that, he resumed his walk.

Jaskier followed, his heart suddenly feeling inexplicably full and a light bounce unmistakable in his steps.

"My lord?"

"Yes, Julian?"

"I ... um ... prefer to be called Jaskier. I mean, for the sake of formality, of course, I would go by my official name among students and colleagues at the university, but otherwise ... Julian's too ... pedestrian, you know."

And Geralt let out a short bark of a laugh.

Startled, Jaskier glanced towards Geralt, and couldn't help gape at the White Wolf. At how incongruous with his usual gruff exterior the laugh seemed, and yet it was such a beautiful, resonating and exuberant sound, ephemeral and rare and precious though it was. At how it smoothed away the lines of care and worry from that divinely gorgeous face, making the Wolf look far younger and happy.

"Only you are capable of thinking like that, Julian. Very well, Jaskier it is."

"My lord, I don't wish to come across as too brazen and insolent, but, um ... may I say something?"

Geralt threw him a look, as if to say _"That ship has sailed, wrecked and sank to the bottom of the ocean"_ , but the smile that had ensued from the laugh a moment ago lingered on his face nonetheless. 

"You may."

"I wish ... hope ... you would laugh more, sire. It makes you look absolutely gorgeous ... no, I mean ... I mean, not that you don't look stunning at all times, my lord, but you know ... this makes you look so carefree and young and happy and fresh, like springtime and summer rain and waterlilies blooming and ... like ..."

His babbling trailed off as he realized that both of them had come to a standstill, and Geralt was boring holes into him once again with his glimmering gold eyes.

_Oh, the way those orbs smouldered with emotions too deep and quite frankly, frightening, for Jaskier to even begin to fathom._

_The way those flame-coloured eyes flickered and flitted all over his face, nearly _devouring_ him - and the moment that thought struck Jaskier, it was all he could do to not shiver._

And before Jaskier could reign in his frantic heart, Geralt was stepping forward, even closer to him, and then ...

"That song you performed today ... was it _your_ composition, Jaskier?"

The young professor nodded, a little breathless. "I wrote it yesterday, my lord."

"Hmm. Life seems to have showered a lot of beautiful things upon the narrator in that song - all in shades of white and silver and gold and amber. Curious, don't you think?"

Jaskier gulped a few times like a fish, no words forthcoming from the usually-so-vocal human. But thankfully, Geralt did not press. Smirking, the White Wolf walked right past him.

"Come on, let's go."

Jaskier followed, his heart and stomach now jointly breaking out into a mad jig.

A heavy mantle of darkness had begun descending pretty much right after they set foot outside the tavern, but there had still been streaks of red and orange and gold and pale blue across the sky - remnants of the last rays of the already set sun - and Jaskier had been able to make his way down the more or less straight path without fumbling too much. But as they neared the lake, all traces of light disappeared from the sky, and sable blackness shrouded the landscape. Jaskier was no longer able to see where he was stepping.

And just when he tripped on a protruding tree root, a hand shot out from beside him and caught his elbow firmly, preventing him from stumbling face forward onto the rather rocky ground, probably saving his front teeth from getting smashed.

"Easy, Jaskier."

"S-sorry, my lord."

"Why do you apologize for something that is not your fault, human?", the criticism floated out a heartbeat later, but the disembodied voice (since Jaskier could no longer see anything of Geralt except the occasional glimmer of his eyes) did not sound harsh at all, "It's my fault - I should have known - it's a new moon night, and you wouldn't be able to see."

_His hand slid down from where it had gripped Jaskier's elbow, and his fingers intertwined themselves with Jaskier's own._

A shiver ran down Jaskier's spine, and his stomach reveled in a pleasant tingling sensation. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he briefly wondered how deafening the sound must be to Geralt, whose hearing was surely several times sharper than a common wolf's, let alone a human's.

_How can the simple touch of his fingers, his palm - clasping my hand - feel so good?_

_How is he this delectably warm?_

_How amazing would it feel to instead have his body wrapped around mine ..._

Jaskier mentally shook himself out of that dangerous spiral of thoughts, and focused on his breathing instead.

"Let's go?"

"Wh-what, my lord?"

"Or do you plan to stand here all night long, and keep my hand captive in yours, human?"

_Please, my lord! Please don't say such things, or I'm afraid my knees might just give way ..._

_Oh, please don't make me any weaker, sire! Your presence and your barest touch are enough to wreak my mind ... and now, your words are adding to it all ..._

"Y-yes - I mean no! N-no! Sorry, y-yes, let's go, my lord ..."

Jaskier cursed himself for being so incoherent, and decided he ought not to speak until he was sure his voice would come out steady. But his incoherence earned him a deep, rumbling chuckle from Geralt, who led the way down to the banks of the lake.

"Careful now - we are right on the edge, and the ground here is a bit slippery with wet mud and sand. Go easy - here - this is a nice and dry spot. Sit here, slowly."

Geralt did not let go even after Jaskier had been seated safely. He settled himself next to Jaskier - the heat emanating from his body enveloping the human by his side, his touch scorching the human's hand held in his own - and it was all Jaskier could do to not sigh contentedly and melt into Geralt, lose himself in the White Wolf.

"Oh oh! What was that?! What was that?", Jaskier screamed suddenly, as he heard a rustling noise and felt something scamper away frighteningly close to his feet, and instinctively reached out for Geralt.

_And the Wolf, letting go of Jaskier's hand and angling himself, caught the flailing, frantic human in a one-armed hug and pulled him closer, into his own broad chest._

"Relax, Jaskier, relax! It's just the rushes and reeds swaying in the breeze ..."

"But something ... something scurried past me ... tickled my feet ..."

"Yes, those will be the tips of the reeds ... breathe, Jaskier - there's nothing here that would dare to hurt you - not while I'm here."

_I shall let no harm come to you, Jaskier._

_So simple! So pithy! And yet, so profound!_

The two of them sat like that - close, _very close_ \- Jaskier mumbling an apology for getting spooked so easily but then promptly shutting up as Geralt glared a little at him. Neither of them made any move to shuffle away from each other. Instead, they sat basking in each other's presence, not needing to talk except for occasional questions from Jaskier about Geralt, his Wolf family, his life and pastimes in Kaer Morhen, his magical armour (which was a part of him, appearing on him when he transformed from wolf-shape into human-shape, and disappearing when he willed it to), and Geralt providing surprisingly patient explanations or answers to each of them. Eventually, a companionable silence fell over the two, and the Wolf idly wondered how the human, who had appeared so loquacious and full of barely contained nervous energy in their first meeting, could be so calm, quiet and utterly content to simply sit next to him, his head very lightly resting on Geralt's shoulder.

Jaskier's eyes had by this time acclimatized to the dark, and he could discern the faint outlines of the trees that loomed all around the lake, and even the reeds and rushes that poked their heads out of the shallow water on the shores of the lake. Suddenly, he noticed a very faint shimmer on the otherwise pitch-black surface of the lake, and sat up, eyes wide and straining.

"Wait, what's tha-..."

"Hush! Watch."

And Jaskier did. 

Little pinpricks of glinting, twinkling light began appearing, one by one, on the inky black canvas of the night sky, as if some invisible giant was sprinkling handfuls of minuscule diamonds all over the vast, dark canopy overhead. Soon, the entire sky looked studded with gemstones, and the pale, weak light they cast made the waters of the lake look as if tinged with just a hint of silver, illuminating the tiny waves that softly lapped against the shores.

"It's - it's beautiful! So, so beautiful!", the words fell from Jaskier's lips in a whisper, his mesmerized eyes drinking in the almost ethereal beauty of his surroundings.

Geralt hummed low in his throat, but otherwise uttered no word. That, and his grip on Jaskier's shoulder tightened, and he pulled the human infinitesimally closer to himself.

"I, um, had a proposition for you", the Wolf said, after allowing Jaskier several minutes to bask, enchanted and occasionally murmuring sincere praises, in the glorious, divine beauty of the night.

"A proposition?", Jaskier looked at Geralt, equal parts fascinated and bemused.

"Yes. You see, once every few weeks, I give a couple of lectures on astronomy to our kids here. They like the subject fair enough, but I think it would motivate them further if, when I teach them this week about constellations and such, there is another instructor to tell them about the historical and mythological contexts that led to the nomenclature of these constellations."

Jaskier sat up, his eyes wide as saucers as he gaped at the now slightly smirking Wolf, an elated grin beginning to form at the corner of his lips.

"And you want me to ..."

"Yes. If you would like to, of course."

"I would _love_ it, my lord!"


	4. Of constellations, picnics, growing doubts and emerging friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which stories with morals and messages are exchanged, and hearts are opened a little bit more to allow the light of love and compassion to shine through, and homemade food is shared. But doubts do begin to form, giving you all lovelies a teensy hint to the angst that is to follow. In which, in a different timeline, an iron-strong bond of friendship begins to be forged between two people who once thought they could be lovers. PLEASE REVIEW !!

"Alright, so, any of you kids have any questions for us?", Jaskier's voice came out like the trill of a lark as he put on his most dazzling smile and looked around invitingly at his rapt audience.

A hand shot up in the air, and Jaskier turned to the little girl with frizzy red hair who was now staring at him with bright, eager eyes. He was about to ask for her name, when a soft, deep voice spoke up from beside him.

"Yes, Ginny?", Geralt's question came out with such fondness and gentle encouragement that Jaskier could not help but spare him an astonished glance - he was only beginning to find out how affectionate and loving the White Wolf was towards the children and young adults of Daven, and how much, in turn, they all held him dear to their hearts.

"Sir Geralt, Professor Julian, my question is - is it fair that Prince Phrixus sacrificed the very ram who carried him to safety, and gifted its golden fleece to the king of Colches to win his favour?"

Jaskier's eyes widened - he had not really expected such a question from a twelve-year old. It was not that Kaedwen did not have its fair share of traditions involving animal sacrifice to please deities, but it was noticeably less than most other countries on the Continent, and those gruesome rituals were usually practiced in the remotest parts of the northern realms, deep in the Blue Mountains. He was wondering how to answer the question when another girl raised her hand from the back of the classroom.

"Go ahead, Neha", Geralt prompted gently, smiling at the flaxen-haired, pale-faced kid.

"I wanted to say that I had the same question in mind as Ginny. And also, where Professor Julian tells us about Orion - I really don't think we should call him Orion _the Great_. He killed all those innocent animals without mercy just so he could impress Artemis, and although Artemis punished him, it is not right that Zeus put Orion's constellation in the sky to honour the cruel hunter. Instead, he ought to have put those animals up in the sky as stars."

A general murmur of agreement swept through the class, and Jaskier and Geralt exchanged a quick glance - Jaskier silently conveying his sheer amazement at the intelligence and precociousness of the kids, and Geralt smirking a bit, pride and joy clear in his sparkling eyes.

"These", declared Jaskier, turning back to face the eagerly waiting students, "Are excellent - _excellent_ \- questions, children. And I cannot help but agree - I too feel it is wrong that animals are so wantonly slaughtered by humans, for such inconsequential reasons - I mean, no one even knows if the gods truly want sacrifices from us to test our faith, right? - and such deeds go unpunished often enough. In fact, let me tell you yet another story."

He paused a little before launching into the story behind the constellation of Leo.

"I've told you about Hercules before, and of course, he is legendary, so most of you have heard of him anyway. Now Hercules, if you recall, was the son of Zeus, the sky god, and Zeus absolutely doted on him. But Hera, who was Zeus' wife and the queen of the heavens, was very, very jealous of Hercules. So what she did was - she gave Hercules twelve tasks to accomplish - that came to be called the Twelve Labours. She had hoped that he would fail in at least one of these tasks, thus proving himself unworthy of Zeus' love."

"That, frankly, sounds horrible, Professor", commented a very wise and solemn looking chubby boy sitting on the front row of the class.

"Jealousy makes us do terrible deeds, Michael", Geralt explained patiently, and Jaskier continued.

"Now, the first of these Twelve Labours required Hercules to kill a ferocious lion named Leo. Apparently, Leo dwelt in a secluded cave high up in the mountains, amidst the forests of Nemea, and he hunted animals to eat. Some scholars contend that Leo was ruthless, and he hunted and ate human beings as well, while some make him look even more inimical, asserting that he used to lure young women from the surrounding villages to his den, and then the lovers of the abducted women would venture into his cave to rescue them, and get killed by the lion. But if you ask me, all these are simply to justify how human beings, time and time again, tried to sneak into Leo's cave to kill him, or tried to ensnare him in traps and then kill him. He, like any other lion, killed only for survival - only because he must eat or he would die. But humans - we kill for fun, for pleasure, to flaunt the killed animals as some sort of sick trophies. If you ask me, Leo was probably quite content to stay to the forests and the mountains, not intruding upon villages inhabited by humans. But humans did encroach on his territory and tried to slay him. Despite this, he was the one to be branded the villain, and the humans who lost their lives trying to kill him for no reason whatsoever were hailed as martyrs. Tell me, is that fair?"

The entire class sat agog, listening to Jaskier's impassioned recounting of the myth with mouths hanging slightly open. Even Geralt stood stock-still, leaning against the blackboard, his arms crossed, intently watching his companion whose back was turned to him.

"In fact, this story of Leo the lion, who, by the way, was strangled to death by Hercules - because nothing - no arrow, no spear - could pierce his hide - is pertinent to this day. Because you see, to this day, we fear and detest wild predators just because they are feral. Just because they eat flesh. We forget that most of us choose to eat meat as well. We fear and abhor them because they are equipped with claws and fangs that can rend any human to shreds, but so often we forget that we ourselves are equipped with all manners of lethal weapons - knives and swords and axes and arrows - and we do not hesitate to use them - not just in self-defense, but also to inflict harm upon others. At least these wild animals do no wage wars against one another, do not hurt each other out of spite, out of jealousy, out of avarice, out of the desire to conquer, to rule, to achieve ambitious goals. We forget that these predators are crucial to Mother Earth - that they too have the right to live here, just like the rest of us, and just as they respect our boundaries, so should we respect theirs. Not hate them and be hostile towards them, but instead, maybe try to understand them. At least, we can leave them alone - give them the space they deserve. They certainly do not deserve to be hunted down on the pretext that they are pernicious to us - they are _not_. They are just as innocent, and just as deserving of compassion, as any of you little darlings. Right?"

As the class vigorously nodded their consent, Jaskier smiled brightly at them all, feeling suddenly happy that he could, at least partially, impress upon their young minds something he had always believed in, something he had felt deep in his bones right from his childhood days. He turned to Geralt, wanting to ask him wordlessly, with his eyes alone, how he liked the story and Jaskier's narration of it ...

_.... and his smile faltered a bit, even as his heart sped up several notches, as his eyes locked with the White Wolf's ..._

_Why was Geralt looking at him like that? As if Jaskier were something fragile and precious and evanescent? As if he might disappear if Geralt dared to so much as blink?_

_Why was the Wolf's expression that raw and open and vulnerable? Why did he look almost pained as his golden eyes dwelt resolutely on Jaskier's face, as if committing every line, every arc on the professor's face to his memory?_

Before Jaskier could drown once again in those molten pools of gold, his heart hammering in his chest, Ginny came to his rescue, drawing his attention away from Geralt with another question she had in mind.

But throughout the rest of the class, even while Geralt wrote or drew illustrations on the blackboard, Jaskier felt the Wolf's eyes slide towards his direction every few minutes.

************************************************************************************************

"Whew! Well, that, my lord, was one _hell_ of an experience! I _loved_ it! All thanks to you, of course - such a wonderful opportunity ..."

Jaskier babbled on, bouncing a little in glee and excitement as he stepped out into the sun-bathed courtyard of the school building, a few books clutched under his arm and his rather-heavy-looking satchel slung over his other shoulder. Geralt walked more sedately beside the professor, the first word since the end of the class yet to leave his lips. He appeared slightly distracted - rather unlike him - and his eyes kept flitting up to look at the human walking alongside him (and instantly dipping down to the stone pavement beneath his feet every time said human made eye contact with him).

"My lord?", Jaskier's elated smile wavered a bit as Geralt continued to brood, "Did you not like the way I taught? Did I ... I mean, please, tell me where I may improve ... I haven't taught such young children before ... do you think they ..."

Geralt stalled the mad rush of words from the now evidently worried and agitated professor's lips with a warm, steadying hand upon his shoulder.

"Breathe, Jaskier. I couldn't have asked for a better companion for teaching this class. Trust me."

Jaskier looked at him a bit incredulously, and Geralt couldn't help but smile at that expression.

"In fact, I was going to ask you - would you like to do this again? I mean, we can shift this to may be Friday afternoons or even Saturday mornings if the current timing clashes with the classes you will be teaching at the university ..."

Before he could finish, Geralt had to physically restrain himself from staggering back at the way Jaskier's impossibly brilliant smile slammed into his heart. 

_As if his own personal sun had just emerged from behind the clouds, and was shining down on him, brighter and warmer and more adoring than anything he had ever seen before!_

"You want me to ... you really ... my lord, that would be so, so kind of you! Such an honour! Wow ... I am not even sure I deserve to be ..."

He noticed Geralt glaring at him, daring him to finish the sentence, and promptly shut up.

"He he", he smiled sheepishly.

"Are you or are you not hungry, Julian?"

_Oh, I see. So you are going to address me as "Julian" when you are trying to stay mad at me - is that so, my lord?_

"Oh, I am famished, my lord."

"Then let us head towards the market, shall we?"

"I, um, actually prepared something for the both of us, my lord. Sorry that I didn't ask for your permission beforehand ... it's all rather humble fare, so if you don't want to ..."

"You made lunch? For me?"

Jaskier tried his best to ignore the way his heart lurched at the look the Wolf was giving him, and the way Geralt's voice came out much deeper than usual, imbued with not just gratitude and pleasant surprise, but a whole concoction of other emotions that the human couldn't quite comprehend.

"Yes! Um, I like to cook - a lot, actually - he he! Really felt like sharing some of my homemade dishes with you, sire, if you don't mind, that is. And I have this nice little place in mind - where we could go have a small picnic, if you like ..."

Geralt's hand traveled down from Jaskier's shoulder, and gave a brief squeeze to the professor's hand, before being removed. 

_All the things I cannot put into words, Jaskier ... please, allow me to express just a sliver of them through this brief touch, woefully inadequate though it is, my friend ..._

"Lead on, Jaskier."

************************************************************************************************

By the time they reached the beautiful little glade right on the banks of the hurrying, leaping Gwenllech, the sun had climbed higher, and was directly overhead. But the light filtered through the canopy of bright green foliage above, dappling the forest floor delightfully. The two companions sat facing each other on the ground, a huge checkered handkerchief spread out between them with a couple of earthen plates and spoons set on top of it, and Geralt watching Jaskier curiously as the human rummaged around in his satchel.

"Alright, nothing fancy, I warn you, my lord. I hope you won't be disappointed."

With a flourish that belied all those words of humility, Jaskier pulled out a lid-covered bowl that had been tightly wrapped in several layers of cloth both to trap the heat and with the hope of not allowing the smells to escape and alert Geralt's sensitive nose to the contents inside.

But now, the delicious aroma of baked chicken and potatoes and crispy piecrust and melted, luscious cheeses filled the air, and Geralt couldn't help letting out a small, contented sigh, making Jaskier chuckle wickedly.

"I hope it tastes to you as good as it smells, my dear lord."

The pie turned out far, far better than what Geralt had expected it to, and he forgot to resist when Jaskier offered him a second helping. Nor did he fail to notice how the professor ended up offering him a far larger share of the pie than he himself partook of, and it warmed his heart to realize, deep down, that this was one of Jaskier's many, many ways of showering his love and adoration upon the Wolf.

"Jaskier", Geralt said, once both the giant slices of pie on his plate had disappeared, and he was more sated than he would have been had he bought a simple, frugal lunch from the market, "That ... was incredible, my friend!"

Jaskier looked up, startled, at the White Wolf, his heart stuttering as he let the endearment that he had just been rewarded with sink deep inside him. Geralt sat there, his eyes twinkling in an unusually open expression of happiness and contentment as he observed his companion, making the professor blush.

_How it becomes you ... that blush creeping up your pale, pale neck, blooming on your cheeks like the palest rose rouge ..._

"I, um, made some dessert too", Jaskier admitted, eyes downcast, a shy smile playing on his lips.

"Jaskier, really, you did not have to ..."

"No, but I _wanted_ to, my lord!"

The two companions stared at one another, their eyes spilling forth emotions that no word from their lips could have elucidated. They stared deep and hungrily into one another's eyes - as if neither could have enough of the other - unable to look away, unable to move. Steadily, their heartbeats escalated, their breaths came quicker and shallower, they felt this irresistible urge to move closer - _closer_ \- to one another ...

Until a nightingale called somewhere in the boughs above, loud and clear, breaking the silence and shattering the pull that had been striving to bring the Wolf and the human closer to each other.

Geralt and Jaskier jerked out of their reverie, both flushed and avoiding each other's eyes now. Jaskier quietly pulled out a couple of dainty, small bowls that were also lidded shut and covered in a few layers of knotted cloth. He unfastened them, revealing the decadent mini cheesecakes that resided within, topped with strawberries and raspberries and cherry syrup oozing down the sides. With a smile but still averting his eyes, he offered one to the White Wolf.

Geralt gaped at the proffered cake.

_When Gwen brought Sabrina to meet Da, and the rest of us, didn't he bake her this exact same cake? With this exact same topping?_

_And didn't he later explain something about how those bright red colours contrasted with the pale yellowish-white of the cake were supposed to be some sort of symbolic proclamation of love? Or of falling in love?_

"Do you not like cheesecakes, sire?"

Geralt's eyes jolted up to meet Jaskier's. He seemed at a loss for words, but eventually, he managed to nod and took the cake, trying not to show how his hand shook just a wee bit as his fingers brushed against Jaskier's.

********************************************************************************************

The entire way back to the town-square, Jaskier prattled on, occasionally skipping as he walked alongside Geralt, oblivious to the Wolf's silence and how he appeared to be deep in thought.

"I think that next time, we should tell them about the constellations of Auriga the Charioteer, and also Delphinus the Dolphin, since they evidently harbour deep compassion and fondness for animals. What say you, my lord?"

"Hmm", came the absentminded reply.

"And I think it will be very good to teach them about Cygnus, or the Northern Cross, and how that constellation came to be named, since it will give them a very nice lesson on true friendship and loyalty. Don't you think?"

Again, a deep hum in the throat was the only answer forthcoming, but it could not deter Jaskier.

Not until the two of them stood at the entrance of the town-square and it was time to part ways that the professor quieted down a bit, and his face fell.

"I shall ... see you soon, sire?"

Geralt tried not to look at the wide puppy eyes that were staring up at him, hoping for and totally expecting an answer in the affirmative.

"Hmm."

Jaskier failed to notice how non-committal that answer was. He was too pumped up from the events of the day - too euphoric and enlivened by the emotionally intimate moments he had shared with the White Wolf. And he had not an ounce of doubt in his mind that they had made progress - _he_ had made progress - and that they would see each other again very soon, and take it up exactly where they were leaving it off that evening ...

"Alright then. I'm going to stay prepared with the next lesson's contents, and can give you a brief summary when we meet in the tavern - see if you wish to add anything to it, or modify it. And perhaps next time, after the lesson, we could go somewhere else for a picnic?"

He did not receive an answer to his question, for at that moment, he detected a third presence among them, though he had not heard the slightest sound of feet approaching them.

"Good evening, brother! And this must be the new professor, Julian, is it?"

Jaskier whipped around to face the towering, dusky witcher with drab brown hair fluttering in the wind, his face stern and his hard eyes pinning Jaskier down. 

"H-hello, my lord ..."

"Lambert. No, don't bother with all the bowing and curtseying. Geralt, we need to head home. It's getting late."

The tone was brusque and dismissive, the words terse. Jaskier looked timidly from Lambert to Geralt, but received no support nor sympathy from the White Wolf, who stood equally rigid, glaring hard at no one in particular.

With a grunt, the White Wolf turned on his heels and stalked away, not a word nor indeed a glance spared at the human he had spent almost the entire day with. Lambert followed, close at his heels.

Jaskier was left alone in the square, his eyes staring longingly at the dwindling figure of Geralt until the two Wolves were swallowed up by the swirling, foggy gloom of the fast-approaching autumn evening.

*************************************************************

"Getting soft, are we, Geralt?"

The words came out harsh and pointed, ever the style of Lambert who didn't know how to soften the blow. The younger Wolf whirled around to face him, his face set in a scowling grimace.

"I have no idea what you are on about, Lambert. Care to clarify?", he said through gritted teeth.

"Taking the human on a romantic walk in the evening, holding hands and all? _You_ , initiating contact, and then not letting go? Picnicking with him by the riverside? You didn't think I would get to know of these? You don't think you're getting a little _too_ comfortable around that human, hmm?"

"He is good and honest at heart, Lambert."

'"Is that right? So my wise little brother has finally discovered a _human_ who is good and kind and honest, even towards us Wolves that most humans heartily hate with all their being, hmm? Since when did you get your brains this hopelessly befuddled, Geralt? A human hailing from down south is your _friend_?!! Who knows if underneath the guise of a young and charming professor, he is a coldblooded assassin, sent to finish you off, hmm?", the last sentence came out as an almost-roar, though Lambert had not bothered to raise his voice, and his eyes burned in fury as he stared Geralt down.

"I assure you, Lambert - my judgments are not quite as flawed as you presume, dear brother", Geralt sneered, refusing to be browbeaten, "He is trustworthy, and he is not one of those prejudiced, mean people with a parochial mindset who deny that Wolves have a right to live and thrive on the Continent. He is a true friend ..."

" _A true friend?_ ", Lambert scoffed, making his younger brother bristle, "Whatever happened to my pragmatic, no-nonsense Geralt? What's gotten into you, brother? How could you let that puny human sweet-talk his way under your skin, hmm?"

"If you were there in today's astronomy class, Lambert, you would know. If you were to speak to him, give him a chance to ..."

"A chance to _what_? Steal my senses as well, hmm? Even that Eskel seems besotted with this human ...", Lambert ground his teeth in frustration, "And _you_! You say he is _just_ a friend of yours, hmm? Do you always hold hands when you walk around with someone who is _just_ a friend, Geralt? _You_ , who shies away from the touch of nearly everyone, except the closest of his brothers and his father?"

Geralt stood fuming and seething, unable to muster up a suitable comeback to that accusation.

"And even if he is what you claim he is, Geralt, then what? Hmm? I can already tell how your heart's yearning to see him again despite the fact that it's been only a few minutes since you parted with him. Where do you think this will culminate, Geralt? You taking him up to Kaer Morhen, to meet Da? A _human_ , up in _Kaer Morhen_? You think Da will allow it? You think our brothers will welcome him? Have you given _any_ thought to any of these issues, hmm?", Lambert whispered menacingly, venom dripping from his tone.

Geralt stood transfixed, and the livid, infuriated expression from a moment ago slowly gave way to something that could only be described as dismay on a Wolf's countenance. 

"Didn't think so", concluded Lambert, disappointment colouring his tone, "I had such pride in you, in your senses and in your dedication to the care and safety of our race, of Kaer Morhen, of our pack. And here you are, cavorting around with a human of unknown origins and intentions who has you wrapped around his pinky like a lovesick, doting fool!"

The older Wolf spat out those words, and without waiting for a response, turned on his heels and strode away, leaving the White Wolf alone in the dark.

*************************************************************************************

"Come in", Yennefer called, not raising her eyes from where she sat pouring over a sheaf of papers, a quill held ready in the fingers of her left hand, while the thumb of the right one sat wrapped in a thick bandage. 

"Hi", said Geralt as he stepped inside the room, balancing a tray on one hand and a box containing first aid supplies clutched in the other.

"No, you really didn't have to ...", Yennefer began, her apparently flustered tone laced with fondness, "You oaf! You brought coffee!"

"Well, since you insist on not sleeping properly at night these days, and prowl around the keep all sleep-deprived during the daylight hours, and cut yourself on your own clumsily shattered beakers and decanters and test-tubes ...", Geralt explained, smiling at her while he set the tray down carefully on a small space she hurriedly cleared at one corner of her study-table, "Might as well try to keep you awake so you don't nod off while working with all those dangerous substances in your laboratory."

"You're one to talk, given how recklessly you deal with your alchemical ingredients while preparing for the guest lectures at the university", she smirked, lightly mussing up his ponytail, "And does Ciri have to report everything to her Baba?"

"Apparently. Now, may I see the wound?"

They sat in companionable silence, Yennefer sipping the strong black coffee while Geralt replaced the blood-soaked bandage on her thumb with a fresh one, after smearing an ointment on the gash.

"Don't know how you deal with that dreadful bitterness. Can't you add at least _some_ milk and sugar?"

"Not a softie like you, Geralt."

"Hmm", then, after a pause, "There, all done."

The sorceress took back her hand and examined the new bandage, a pensive look on her face.

"Geralt?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm sorry, love."

The Wolf looked up at her from where he had been putting the supplies back in the first-aid box, vulnerable and sad all of a sudden.

"As am I, Yenna."

"But you didn't hurt me the way I ..."

"May be not, but I hurt you in other ways. In more ways than I care to keep count of. And far more grievously than you have."

"You didn't strike me, Geralt. Ever."

"Whatever - my offenses towards you are far, far worse. You asked for none of this. I convinced you - convinced _us_ \- that this could ...", the Wolf huffed, biting back a sob, self-loathing apparent in his features, and he looked away even though Yennefer was trying to make eye-contact with him, "I was so sure back then ... I was't lying, believe me, Yen - however deluded I might have been ..."

"A liar you are not, Geralt of Rivia", finished Yennefer, and then her voice took on a hint of beseeching, "Geralt, please, look at me."

Reluctantly, Geralt turned back to gaze at Yennefer's violet orbs, but the pained frown did not leave his face. "That night, when you asked if I was trying hard enough, I ... you're right ... no matter how hard I try, Yenna ... I'm - I'm sorry, love - I led you on, and then I let you down ..."

"It's a _bit_ presumptuous of anyone to think they can lead on Yennefer of Vengerberg - even you, Geralt", Yen scoffed, "I let this happen because I wanted you. Wanted you almost too fiercely, back then. You might say that even _I_ was deluded, _shocking_ though it may seem."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, and succeeded in eliciting a fond, albeit watery, chuckle from Geralt.

"Oh, Yen ..."

"Walk with me?"

The two strolled out onto one of the rock ledges that served as a balcony cum courtyard for the fortress, and went to stand leaning against the sturdy stone balustrade that lined its periphery. 

"We were such fools back then", Yennefer sighed, looking out onto the panoramic vista - the bluish-green mountains that sat lower than the cliffs on whose shoulders stood Kaer Morhen, the mighty snow-wreathed peaks farther away with their summits lost to the clouds, and far, far down below - barely visible through the mists - a sliver of green that indicated the Kaer Morhen Valley, "Trusting this rare, obscure phenomenon of imprinting to decide for us who we should be in love with."

"We trusted Destiny", Geralt stated simply, "And yes, we were fools. I still am, I think."

Yennefer chuckled, shaking her head. "Trust you to maintain the worst kind of double standards in life - regarding oneself with such unforgiving harshness and everyone else with such lenience."

"You're wrong ..."

"No, Geralt, _you_ are wrong", she rounded on him, slightly impatient now, "We all erred. We all dug ourselves into this mess. All three of us."

"Three?", Geralt looked startled.

Yennefer smirked, pulling him into a light embrace, "What, you're gonna completely exonerate that tantrum-throwing, immature little idiot you are in love with?"

Geralt stared at her, mouth agape. 

_Yennefer never mentioned **him**. Not without scorn and derision dripping from her voice._

_Not without the heat of fury and jealousy seeping through her tone. Not without her face contorting in rage. Never._

_And yet, here she was - her tone unmistakably gentle - even fond - as she casually brought up the most sensitive topic they had ever had the ill fortune to share a conversation on._

_Nothing but very gentle remonstrance in her voice, with a plaintive undertone._

_And did she ... did she just use the present tense? "... you are in love with"?_

"I- I didn't t-think y-you would ever mention him ...", he stammered.

"I don't mind mentioning Julian when I have the chance to vent about him", she laughed, still no trace of heat in her voice, "Besides, I do believe all three of us are to blame here. All three of us blundered, you and I egregiously so. But yes, I admit that his share of blame is a lot less than ours."

"If it were up to me, I would exonerate both of you", Geralt muttered, head hanging.

"Of course you would, you lummox! You would put the two of us on pedestals and worship us while you wither away into a miserable wreck of self-loathing and guilt and shoulder all the blame", the sorceress scoffed, lightly swatting at the Wolf's arm, "We all had our flaws. And we each let the other down. You two didn't listen to each other, Geralt. I didn't listen to the rational part of me warning me against doing anything impulsive, and I didn't listen to him. I didn't see past his anger, didn't care to acknowledge the broken heart that was the cause of all those tirades."

A strangled noise escaped Geralt's lips despite his best efforts to suppress it. He forced himself to gulp huge mouthfuls of air, hoping it would help hold back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Yennefer waited patiently by his side, her hand rubbing soothingly over his back.

After a moment, Geralt collected himself enough to let out a shaky breath and say, his voice still cracking slightly around the edge, "Do you have any hope we can ever dig ourselves out of this mess, Yenna?"

"I do", the sorceress said, her voice holding nothing but sincere conviction as she looked into Geralt's golden eyes, "We _will_ find a way to make everything work. But at the moment, venturing out of Kaedwen is out of the question for any of us - certainly for you Wolves, and even for us sorceresses who so openly sided with you in the war against Nilfgaard. Especially not with Cirilla in our care. All the neighbouring nations are still beset with pockets of Nilfgaardian battalions stubbornly refusing to give ground."

"Yes, I know. But the damage that I have wrought, Yenna ... I am not so sure it can be undone ... I fear it is already too late ... the manner in which we parted ... the last words I hurled at him ... he must, quite justifiably, think me a monster, Yenna ..."

"That will be enough, Geralt", the words came out sharp and stern, brooking no argument, "And trust me when I say this - we will find a way to fix this. You said we trusted Destiny, right? Well, Destiny brought us together and brought us Ciri - for a purpose. To protect her, bring her up, help her become the wise, well-rounded, just and compassionate leader she was born to be. Do you think we can accomplish that, together, Geralt?"

The White Wolf looked at the proud, fierce, determined sorceress, and felt a rush of pride and affection.

"We can. And we will, Yenna."

"Then I think we can trust Destiny to aid us as we move forward, this time with honesty and loyalty and love for each other in our hearts. It will lead us where it will, but I refuse to believe there aren't better days ahead of us, Geralt", she said, hugging him tight, and he returned the embrace, wanting to believe every word she had spoken.

"Speaking of Ciri - she was telling me the other day how amazing your astronomy lectures are. And I marveled too when she told me all those little backstories about how each of the constellations came to be named. How do you know those so well, Geralt?"

The White Wolf smiled a touch ruefully, but Yennefer did not see that as she still stood hugging him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I learned all that from an expert, Yenna."

"Hmm. One last question, Geralt. Why have you never - _never_ \- asked me to check on him? Using magic? I _know_ for a fact that you never asked Triss nor Sabrina, and you never once sought me out to help you find out where he is now. Why?"

Geralt looked down at the sorceress with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"You think I am depraved enough to ever even think of using you like that, Yen? And to spy on the man whose heart I broke and whom I sent away so cruelly from my side?"

"And still you'd call yourself a monster, Geralt of Rivia, instead of the kindest person I have ever met in my life?"


	5. Of distancing and denials, heartbreaks and near-losses, opening up and realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which hearts are broken, and love is tested. In which a certain insecure, self-loathing Wolf tries to distance himself from the love of his life. In which someone is brought back from the brink of his death by the person he has hopelessly lost his heart to. In which someone realizes just how much his life would feel hollow if he lost the one he loves. In which Lambert- in a different timeline - has become someone much wiser and with a very different opinion about humans (see previous chapter for reference). And in which, Ciri begins to learn a closely guarded secret from her Uncle Lambert. 
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!

"He came here yesterday? So, he hasn't gone out on one of his inspection tours, right?", Jaskier asked, his tone anxious, staring up at the innkeeper. 

"Aye, lad, he is in town all right", said Barry, busily serving drinks to a bunch of merchants who had arrived that day from the far west, "But he seems to favour showing up only on Thursdays nowadays, that too quite early in the evening."

Jaskier tried to ignore the feeling of unease that settled in his heart upon hearing this piece of information. 

Classes at the university had commenced in full swing, and Jaskier was having to teach several courses, and when he wasn't giving lectures, he was attending meetings with colleagues, interacting with students, having to work on his own research, shouldering administrative duties. He still managed to finish up his tasks for the day and come to the tavern most weekdays, though he arrived pretty late and could only stay for half an hour or so. 

All except Thursdays. Thursdays he had to teach a class late into the evening, and by the time he was done, the tavern's opening hours would be nearly over, and he had to head straight to his cottage, exhausted and famished. 

"And he didn't come in on any other day, at any other time at all, Barry?"

"Well", answered Arum instead, seeming to rake his memory, "There's this one time that he showed up very early on a Tuesday, right after Barry had opened for business, but he stayed for a very short time that day, and left in a hurry."

"And have you seem him anywhere else, Arum?", the question came out like an entreaty, making Arum glance at the now-rather-mournful-looking young professor with sympathy in his eyes.

"No son. He seems extra busy these days. The borderlands are giving the Lords a lot of trouble, and winter's approaching, so they have to stock up and make sure the town is sufficiently provided for, to last through the fell season."

"Aye", chimed in Barry, "I saw several of the Lords, including Sir Eskel and Sir Lambert, overseeing the supply of woolens, dried meat, hard cheeses, pickled fish, fruits and vegetables from the merchant-wagons at the marketplace over the last few days, and the storing of wheat and rye in the granaries."

"I wish I could help him ... I mean, them", Jaskier commented absently, his mind wandering off, his eyes unfocused as he swirled the drink in his tumbler.

"You already are, by assuming your role as a teacher, son", reassured Arum, "And I'm sure you'll see him soon. May be go talk to the teachers at the school - they'd know when next he is giving one of his lectures on astronomy or alchemy or geography."

**************************************************************

It had been nearly two and a half weeks since Jaskier had seen Geralt. He had not only made sure to visit the tavern every single evening except on Thursdays, ignoring the weariness in his bones and the throbbing headaches that frequently assaulted him after long hours of teaching and working on his research and engaging in discussions with students and peers, he had also tried to go out for walks in the marketplace whenever he could, even ambling over to the lakeside and the banks of the Gwenllech during the weekends. And all that had proven to be futile.

There had been no sign of Geralt anywhere. 

From afar, he had glimpsed some other Wolves in and around the town, but neither Eskel nor Rennes had been among them. He did not know any of these Wolf Lords, with the exception of Lambert, and for some reason, he had not been able to make himself walk up to that particular Wolf Lord and inquire after Geralt. For some reason, Lambert set his nerves on edge, making him feel extremely disconcerted and self-conscious. He had given the dusky Wolf a wide berth.

Which meant that he had nothing but hearsay and market-gossip to base his assumptions as to Geralt's whereabouts on, and he seriously doubted the accuracy of his conclusions.

One Monday morning, he had found a little window of time between two consecutive lectures to sneak out of the university and hastily make his way to the town-school, to have a word with the teachers there. He had been ushered into the office of the headmistress - a stately old lady with a perpetually severe expression and a pair of monocles sitting on the bridge of her nose. She had peered up at him as he had asked, trying not to feel like he was being thoroughly judged, whether Geralt had come over in the past couple of weeks or whether he planned to give one of his guest lectures anytime soon.

"That, as I am sure you are well aware, is classified information, Professor Pankratz", the terse, stern answer had come in a steely voice that had brooked no further questions. And that had been the end of that.

By the end of the third week, Jaskier was practically twitching with worry and impatience. One morning, while walking down the cobbled central avenue leading to the marketplace to grab lunch (he had deliberately foregone home-cooked lunch just so he could have an excuse to visit the market with the hope of catching sight of Geralt), he was seriously contemplating walking up to Lambert the next time he saw him and asking about Geralt, or even venturing up into the mountains despite his promise not to do so, when he ran into a red-headed little girl running towards him.

"Professor Julian!", the girl panted, having just narrowly avoided colliding with his knee in her haste, "Professor! You didn't come to teach us last Friday!"

Jaskier crouched down in front of the girl, and placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to steady her breathing.

"Breathe, Ginny. What do you mean I didn't come to teach you last Friday?" 

"Friday, Sir Geralt gave us another lecture on constellations. He taught us a little about eclipses too. But you weren't there, Professor ", the girl pouted a bit, "Neha and I had been so looking forward to more of your stories..."

By the time Jaskier had calmed Ginny down and sent her home with the promise that some day soon, he would invite her and her best friends over to tell them more mythological tales, his stomach had clenched itself in tight knots, and there was an astringent taste in his mouth. At the same time, he had managed to extricate from the little girl the information that the next time Geralt would teach them was the day after, late in the afternoon.

**************************************************************

Jaskier literally ran out of the university building once he had finished teaching the last class of the day. Not bothering to go to the teachers' common room to pick up his books and satchel, the young professor all but sprinted towards the town-school building. He was panting and clutching at a stitch in his side by the time he reached the courtyard of the school building. The afternoon classes had just come to an end, and students were filing out of several rooms all at once, and he felt a little bewildered trying to locate the room where Geralt might still be, packing up after the class or perhaps answering some last-minute queries of a handful of inquisitive students.

Jaskier began walking down the corridor as fast as his legs would carry him, trying to evade collisions with students and at the same time, peering into the classrooms through the windows that opened onto the corridor. At last, at the very end of the corridor, he came across the classroom he had been looking for.

Geralt was still in there. There were no students. The Wolf was packing up his hardened-leather bag, his back turned towards the door.

"Sir Geralt?"

For some reason, the words came out soft and timid, and for the first time in the nearly four weeks he had had to go without seeing Geralt, Jaskier wondered whether he would really be welcome here.

Geralt froze. 

Slowly - almost agonizingly slowly for Jaskier - the White Wolf straightened from where he had been bent over his bag, and turned around to face the young professor, his face inscrutable, his jaws set, his eyes hard. 

"Master Pankratz."

Jaskier felt like Geralt had kicked him in the ribs.

_After all this time, you are back to "Master Pankratz", my lord?_

_After calling me your friend? After sharing all those moments of candor with me? After allowing yourself to be emotionally intimate with me, at least for a little bit?_

Trying to ignore the hurt, Jaskier spoke, "I didn't see you for such a long time ... I - I thought I would ... come to meet you here ... you - uh - mentioned last time you wanted me to accompany you in teaching this class ... but then ..."

He trailed off, unable to continue, as Geralt's face continued to harden, his eyes now blazing.

"Well, if you didn't see me all this time, it is because I didn't want you to, Pankratz. And if you weren't asked to accompany me in teaching this class, that is because you are no longer needed."

Jaskier tried but failed to suppress the way he flinched at those last few words.

_"... you are no longer needed."_

Trying very hard to swallow past the sudden, constricting lump in his throat, the young professor asked, his voice far quieter and far more hesitant than usual, "Have I done something wrong, sire? Did I offend you in any way? Would you please tell me why you are so upset with me?"

"I don't have time for this, Pankratz. Move", Geralt's voice came out gruff and imperious as he loomed in front of the timid, shrunken human who stood blocking the door.

"But my lord, I don't understand! _What happened?_ Why do you sound so irate? Why have you been avoiding me? I thought we were ..."

"We were _what_ , Pankratz?", Geralt snarled, and Jaskier took a step back, his eyes wide and beginning to brim with tears now, "What exactly _are_ we? What do you think you are to me, hmm? You think you are so important, so entitled, that I should always be at your beck and call like your very own obedient dog? You think you are the centre of my universe, of my existence - that I have to make you and your needs and desires my priority, honour your every wish, show up exactly when you want me to? Don't you dare forget, you impudent, impertinent little _human_ , that you are _just_ an employee - a newly hired one whom we would have no trouble replacing - in a town that is under _my_ jurisdiction, okay? You _work_ under me, and you have been graciously allowed to stay on lands that form the territory of _my_ pack. UNDERSTOOD?"

Jaskier stood quietly and took it all, his eyes downcast and tears now freely streaming down his face, his lips wobbling, his mind going increasingly numb as each of the hatefully hurled words struck him like physical blows, searing into his mind, dripping venom all over his heart.

"And the nerve of you, suggesting that I am _avoiding_ you! You _dare_! From now on, _you_ will stay out of my sight, you understand? Now move, Pankratz! OUT OF MY WAY!"

Battling very hard the urge to claw at his own heart that was now twisting violently in his rib-cage, making him nearly keel over in pain, the poor human raised his eyes once to the fiery golden ones glaring down at him balefully, filled with loathing and disgust such as he could never have imagined in someone as noble as the White Wolf. Slowly, he stood aside, and looking away, muttered, "Forgive me my presumptions and transgressions, Lord Geralt. From now on, it will be as you wish."

With that, he turned away, and on shaky feet, walked back the way he had come to seek his White Wolf.

_If he had turned around, he would have seen how Geralt swayed for just a heartbeat, his hand reaching out to grip the door-frame in an attempt to steady himself, and how he gulped several mouthfuls of air to stop himself from breaking down._

_If he had looked back, he would have seen how a pair of amber-gold eyes followed him for as long as he didn't turn a corner, and then fell shut, tears leaking down from beneath the eyelids._

************************************************************************

That evening, it rained. 

It was a brief spell of showers, and it reminded Jaskier of the rainy seasons on the western coastline of the Continent, especially around the Novigrad-Oxenfurt area. Back when he was a university student, he had enjoyed the rains immensely, and purposefully gotten wet, run around with his clothes sopping and his feet splashing in puddles that formed on the roads. He had loved going hiking alone into the light woods that surrounded the town of Oxenfurt, his eyes eagerly watching the raindrops pattering down, creating ripples in the little ponds that dotted the forest floor, the foliage that would take on a startlingly brilliant emerald-green hue as the rains washed away the dust particles, the way the trees far off would appear like blurry grey smudges on the landscape. He had especially enjoyed going to the sea-shore and watching the stormy-grey swell of the usually deep-blue waters, the ominously high and mighty waves that crashed onto the shore, the way the tumultuous sea seemed to complement the tempestuous skies with their swirling, Prussian-blue clouds overhead.

Rains during the monsoons were far heavier in Kaedwen thanks to the Blue Mountains forming a natural barrier for the moisture-laden winds that blew in from the ocean far away, but this was not the rainy season. Showers towards the end of autumn were scant and usually short-lived, but tended to be much colder and usually occurred in late afternoons or early evenings, followed by very cold nights.

Jaskier had been unable to go back to the university to pick up his books and bag, after his encounter with Geralt. Not that it mattered - he would be back the next day and the items would stay safe enough in his locker in the teachers' room. Instead, he had sauntered down to the edge of the Gwenllech, where he had sat listless and staring at the hurrying waters of the mountainous upper course of the river, his mind numbed and sluggish, his eyes unseeing, tear-tracks now dried and stiff on his cheeks.

Before long, the rain began, and not only could he not muster up the strength to run for some shelter (other than what the trees already provided) or run back home as fast as his feet could carry him, he actually welcomed the cold touch of the droplets that splashed on his skin, soaked through the fabric of his clothes, and helped soothe him. He sat for as long as the rain lasted, his head thrown back to receive the spatter of the raindrops full on his face, eyes closed, fresh tears mingling with the water that trailed down his cheeks and chin and throat like rivulets.

_It felt good. Like the pain and heartache were being leached away from his system. Like the hollowness in his bones was being filled up with rainwater instead._

He tried to remind himself just how much he loved rains. How much he looked forward to them. He tried to tell himself that perhaps that was why the heavens had sent forth this spell of showers - to ease the fire that burned in his bones, singed his tissues and nerves. He tried to tell himself that this was purging him of the agony that nearly crippled him.

Of course, once the rain was over, and darkness set in far earlier than usual thanks to the overcast, brooding skies, and Jaskier finally stood up to head home, the misery and desolation returned full-fledged and with redoubled vehemence. That, coupled with the now soaked and dripping clothes that hung heavy from his shoulders and clung to his skin, made the young professor slump forward as he trudged along the muddy, in places boggy, path, his head and shoulders drooping in utter dejection.

*******************************************************************************

A part of Jaskier's mind had secretly dreaded going to the university the next day - not knowing whether the state of his mind would, in some way, end up affecting his teaching responsibilities and his interactions with others. He was usually not very adept at hiding strong emotions wracking him, but he was now a lecturer at an esteemed university, and he was determined to not appear weak and upset in front of his students. He kept himself formal and a little curt, going methodically, if a little mechanically, through each and every one of his duties - even trying to drown himself in work so as to be able to keep tormenting thoughts and memories at bay. If some of his students and colleagues were a little baffled by the slight change in his usually highly affable demeanour, they chose not to ask him about it. And he was grateful for that.

The duties for the day ended around five o'clock - earlier than usual - and the exhausted professor took his time packing up, then slowly traipsed towards the tavern to grab a drink before heading home and cooking dinner. 

_After all, there was no need for him to linger there anymore._

_No more waiting around hoping to glimpse a certain someone's beloved, handsome face. No more waiting around to enjoy a little time of quiet, comfortable camaraderie with him._

It was half past five when he pushed open the door to the tavern and walked in, his eyes no longer brightening up at the crowd that had gathered, some of whom waved and called out to him jovially - in fact, he didn't even look up as he slowly picked his way through haphazardly scattered chairs and stools towards the bar.

"Julian!"

Jaskier jumped at the sound of that voice, and his eyes widened in sudden shock and fear as he looked up to find Eskel beaming at him, beckoning to him cheerfully, and ...

... _Geralt sitting right behind him ..._

_... his amber-gold eyes glinted a fraction of a second in Jaskier's direction before he turned his face away._

Jaskier froze. He knew it would look extremely awkward if he just turned on his heel and bolted out the door, especially since both Eskel and Barry were watching him expectantly (and also because there would be a fair number of witnesses if he did such a thing, although the other people in the tavern weren't really looking in his direction anymore). But he was finding it really, really hard to make his feet move an inch more in the direction of the bar.

Seeing him balk and dither, Eskel frowned, then slid off his stool and strode towards him. And Jaskier felt well and truly trapped now.

"Julian, hi! Are you alright? You look very pale."

"Y-yes, Lord Eskel. Perfectly fine, just tired is all."

"Well, then, come join us", Eskel gestured towards the bar, and Jaskier's eyes automatically flitted towards Geralt - or rather, his ramrod-straight back that was now turned towards Jaskier, shutting him out completely.

_Something broke inside Jaskier._

Tearing his eyes off Geralt, he forced himself to look up at Eskel and mumbled, "I ... um ... h-have an early class tomorrow ... m-must go ..."

Before he could finish the excuse he was trying to cook up, it was cut short by a violent sneeze.

"Julian!", Eskel exclaimed, voice a tiny bit raised in concern, a hand coming up to rest on the professor's shoulder, "Have you caught a cold, my friend?"

"N-no ..."

And another sneeze. Jaskier felt his head throb painfully from the force of the sneeze, and his eyes watered.

"Look at me."

Eskel tilted his face up with a finger underneath his chin and examined him.

"Swollen, puffy face, bloodshot eyes, and you have a runny nose too."

"I-it's n-nothing", snatching back his face, the professor vigorously wiped away at the snot that was starting to form, and rubbed his eyes.

"Not to mention that you are running a fever", finished Eskel, the back of his palm pressed to Jaskier's forehead, who tried to squirm away.

"I assure you, Lord Eskel ..."

"Well, I am not very reassured, Professor. I am worried, Julian - a cold and fever at this time of the year - it could exacerbate with the oncoming chill. Please, will you go see a healer, my friend?"

Every time Eskel called him "my friend", it sounded like a cruel taunt to Jaskier, reminding him of another person - a person who currently made it staggeringly clear to him how much he did _not_ want to even see his face - who had once acknowledged him as his friend. He desperately wanted to get away from the tavern, from Eskel ... from Geralt.

"Yes, yes - if it gets worse, I shall see a healer."

"No, you should see one _now_. So that it does _not_ get worse, Julian."

"I - I have to go ...", and without waiting for a response, he shook off Eskel's hand from his shoulder and rushed out the door.

Eskel stood there, completely nonplussed, his hand still raised where it had tried to stop Julian from leaving in such abrupt haste. He didn't know what had gotten into the usually so effusive and amiable professor, but he hadn't failed to notice how his eyes appeared dull - the sparkle in them dimmed - lacking their usual lustre of intelligence and excitement, and how his shoulders had been slumped forward a fraction, and how he had been dragging his steps forward, as if some great weariness weighed down on him.

He frowned and turned around, walking back to the bar. And immediately noticed the furtive glances Geralt was throwing his way. Narrowing his eyes and putting his hands on his hips, he decided that he absolutely _had_ to get to the bottom of this conundrum.

"What?", Geralt asked, uncharacteristically defensive.

"You want to explain what's going on?"

"Yeah sure, the moment you tell me whatever the fuck it is that you are talking about", the White Wolf spat.

Eskel smirked. These symptoms he knew. And he absolutely hated it when his best friend and brother was wallowing in guilt and self-hatred. 

"Finish that drink. We'll talk on our way back home."

*****************************************************************

The next day was a Thursday. Which meant that Jaskier had his schedule packed with lecture after lecture after lecture until it was half past six and almost fully dark outside.

On top of that, it was raining when he stepped out (after deliberately leaving behind his books so they wouldn't get wet), and unlike the mild showers from a couple of days back, this resembled more of a deluge, unusual though it was for this time of the year. 

For some reason, he reveled in the feeling of his feverish skin getting drenched in the downpour, and his feet were reluctant to carry him home just yet. Instead they started walking - or more like wading, given the copious amounts of water and mud that had already accumulated on the roads - towards the Gwenllech. It was pitch-dark except for the frequent forks of lightning illuminating the skies, but Jaskier had memorized the route, and it was only a short distance away. He stumbled ahead through the darkness, occasionally slipping and falling and splattering himself with mud but his near-comatose mind stayed oblivious to it all - oblivious to the cuts and scrapes and bruises and the way the skin on his fingertips soon became numb and wrinkled like prunes and how his body began violently shivering of its own accord.

What the human had completely lost the capacity to reflect on was how getting soaked in such cold, cold rain could cause the seemingly harmless cough and congestion in his lungs for the last couple of days to morph into something potentially deadly. Nor was he in a fit state of mind to realize that such a relentless, torrential deluge would cause the Gwenllech to swell from a thin, docile ribbon of a mountain-stream to a fierce, turbulent, seething monster of a river.

Soon, he could hear the thunderous roar of the speeding river, and could feel its spray - the mud-banks had been long since swept away in the flood, and the river now raged and surged forward over a much wider stretch, its gurgling, swirling waters muddy, twigs and leaves and debris spinning and dashing downstream in the deadly current.

_Still, he kept walking forward. Still, he could not make himself stop. His benumbed mind registered absolutely nothing of the peril ahead. Not even when his heels sank in very, very cold water, and the current began tugging at his feet, eager to swallow him up ..._

"JASKIER!"

At first, Jaskier thought it was the howling gale playing tricks on his ears. Or distant peels of thunder. Or perhaps it was the roar of the gushing river mingled with the deafening sound of raindrops ...

"JASKIER! NO! STOP!"

Somehow, this time, the desperate wail managed to pierce through some hidden chink in the dense fog that seemed to have besieged his mind, making a tiny part of his consciousness flare into life. It was as if the resounding scream of pure, unadulterated panic - _of fear of losing Jaskier_ \- stirred a very small part of his rational mind into life, willing it to function, to look around and see where he was, where he was headed.

_His feet slowed to a stop._

"JASKIER!"

There! There was that terrified cry again. And this time, it was accompanied by loud splashes at regular intervals - the sounds of someone running frantically through knee-deep water and mud towards him. Soon, he could hear the heavy, rattling breaths of someone panting so hard, their lungs must have been pushed to their limits.

And as Jaskier's still-disoriented-and-dazed mind attempted to take stock of his surroundings (though his eyes could discern precious little in such inky, liquid darkness), a pair of hands landed on his arms in a vice-like grip, jolting him into full consciousness, dispelling much of the fevered stupor from his mind.

"JASKIER! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING HERE?"

Geralt's face was mere inches away from the now-completely-baffled professor, his hot breath ghosting over Jaskier's lips, his gold eyes gleaming in the darkness, wide with fury and what was unmistakably paralyzing, mind-numbing fear.

"I ... I ...", the professor's voice was hoarse and barely audible as he looked around wildly, "I ... d-don't know ... h-how I c-came here ..."

Geralt dragged Jaskier a few paces back from the brink of the Gwenllech, making sure they both stood on relatively firmer ground and were not in imminent danger of being washed away.

"YOU WERE ABOUT TO WALK RIGHT INTO THE RIVER, JASKIER! ANOTHER COUPLE OF STEPS AND YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN SWEPT AWAY, YOU FOOL!"

The White Wolf panted like a hunted animal, and his voice cracked, the last few words coming out in an almost-sob.

"I ALMOST LOST YOU, JASKIER!"

And this time, a strangled sob did tear itself out of the White Wolf's throat, though he did his best to mask it, and the sounds of rain and thunder and the roaring river helped muffle it a bit. But not enough to throw Jaskier off. He stared, bewildered, up at Geralt - or rather, the faint silhouette of the Wolf - and the way his amber eyes looked pained and tearful (though it could be just the raindrops trickling down his face - thought Jaskier). 

The Wolf continued to draw sharp, erratic breaths with his eyes closed until he calmed down a fraction.

"I thought the river would take you from me", came the much quieter, subdued admission, making Jaskier's breath hitch.

But before the usually unfailingly optimistic human could allow himself to hope again, a small part of his mind sent him a vicious reminder of words he had heard barely two days back.

_You think you are the centre of my universe, of my existence - that I have to make you and your needs and desires my priority, honour your every wish, show up exactly when you want me to?_

_Don't you dare forget, you impudent, impertinent little human, that you are _just_ an employee ... You _work_ under me ..._

_From now on, you will stay out of my sight, you understand?_

Jaskier was never one for confrontation unless it was his last resort. But Geralt's behaviour - his extreme mood-swings, to be precise- were giving him a whiplash. And he couldn't take it anymore - on top of being a miserable emotional wreck, his mind was ravaged by fever - and he exploded.

"SO WHAT? SO WHAT IF THE RIVER HAD SWEPT ME AWAY? WHAT DO _YOU_ CARE?", he yelled, despite the fact that his throat felt raw and chafed, and he had begun to sob in earnest.

Geralt flinched as if scalded, but his steadying grip on Jaskier did not loosen.

"Jaskier ..."

"NO! NOT JASKIER! PANKRATZ - THAT'S WHAT YOU SHOULD CALL ME. I AM _JUST_ AN EMPLOYEE, REMEMBER?"

He was panting so hard his lungs seemed to be on the verge of bursting. He also vaguely realized that breathing was becoming increasingly difficult - as if a cold dead weight was settling in his lungs, preventing them from inflating.

"Jaskier, please, you are sodden ... you need to get home ..."

"WELL YES! I PLAN TO GO HOME, BUT _NOT_ WITH YOU ESCORTING ME! LET GO! LET GO OF ME, LORD GERALT!"

"If I let go, you will fall, you idiot!", Geralt's voice rose with every syllable. The Wolf was impatient to get Jaskier home - somewhere dry and warm - but Jaskier was being stubborn, not budging from his spot.

"I'D MUCH RATHER FALL, THAN BE IN _YOUR_ ARMS!"

Jaskier regretted saying it almost immediately. He wished he could take it back - he wished he could soothe the anguish that shone bright in those amber-gold orbs before they dipped down, and in the fleeting illumination from a lightning that followed, he saw the Wolf's lips tremble.

"I ... I didn't mean ... I'm sorry, my lord ..."

Geralt inhaled deeply, as if trying to tamp down on the deep hurt that had flared in him in the wake of Jaskier's words.

"Jaskier, please, may I take you back home? Please, if you stay out here any longer, you'll catch pneumonia, Jaskier", he implored.

The Wolf's voice was filled with such intense, desperate pleading that it made Jaskier's heart lurch. "I ... okay, but you don't have to, my lord ... I can go back by myself", he managed to stutter through his now persistently chattering teeth.

"Please", was the only word that fell out of Geralt's lips as he stepped forward ...

_... and swept Jaskier up in his arms, bridal-style._

"Wha - Sir Geralt!", Jaskier yelped, his hands coming up to clutch at the lapel and neck of Geralt's shirt, his eyes wide in surprise, "I - I can walk, Sir Geralt ..."

"Yes, you can, but I don't want you to walk through all this mud and water", Geralt said simply, adjusting Jaskier's weight in his arms. He began walking back towards the university quarters, his pace fast enough yet somehow he managed to jostle Jaskier as little as possible.

"I ... Sir Geralt, really, you don't have to ... this is so embarrassing ...", Jaskier mumbled, despite how his speech slurred, how his mind was beginning to sink back into a benumbed darkness, how his body began sagging against Geralt's chest, the cold finally sinking deep into his bones, wracking him with shivers.

"Jaskier? JASKIER! Stay with me! STAY WITH ME, PLEASE!"

Geralt shook Jaskier in his arms, but the professor's body was now ice-cold and completely limp, eyes closed and head lolling onto the Wolf's shoulder, chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm and breaths sounding laboured, ragged, pained.

"JASKIER! NO! NO! PLEASE, NO!", the Wolf howled in pain.

Geralt clutched his human's body tight to his chest, changed tack towards the head-healer's house, and broke into an all-out sprint.

******************************************************************************

"Uncle Lambert?", Ciri called, stepping out onto the spacious courtyard where Lambert sat, his back turned towards her. 

It was the day after Ciri's birthday - her second birthday since she had arrived at Kaer Morhen - and she usually took the day after her birthday off. Which was why this day, she had sought Lambert out not for sword practice or any other manner of strength and agility training, but to listen to stories.

Not that Lambert was the best of storytellers among the Wolves. In fact, in her opinion, after Geralt, her favourite person to run to listen to stories was Eskel. But Eskel, Yennefer, Gwen and Rennes had had to go down to the valley early that morning for a bunch of administrative tasks, and Geralt was up in Vesemir's tower, studying and discussing some important matters with his father. Triss and Sabrina and most other Wolves were busy with a ton of responsibilities of their own.

Hence, Lambert.

"Cub?", asked the Wolf, not glancing up from where he sat honing his swords (and hers as well) with a whetstone.

"Would you please tell me a story, Uncle?", Ciri begged, flopping down in a most un-princess-like manner on the stone next to Lambert.

Lambert grunted, and Ciri knew that was his way of throwing her an indulgent smile. "You know how few of those I can recall."

"Yeah, but may be something from real life? Something that you witnessed yourself? Doesn't have to be a fantastical folktale of ancient origins or something like that."

"Real life? Hmm, well, yes - that indeed is full of interesting happenings."

Suddenly, Ciri perked up. "Why don't you tell me about how each of you Wolves fell in love?"

Lambert started violently, nearly dropping the sword and the whetstone from his hand. 

"Ahem", he cleared his throat, blushing a deep crimson, and Ciri threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh come on! You are getting married in less than a month. And here you are, all shy and embarrassed about it."

It didn't help to make Lambert any less flushed.

"Tell me, Uncle Lambert, since I hear that it is awfully rare among Wolves to fall for humans - they seem to always favour mages and elves and a few other magical beings - how is it you fell for Aunt Shani?"

And that made Lambert look up at Ciri, his embarrassment temporarily forgotten, his eyes narrowed as he looked deep into her emerald eyes.

"Rare, but not impossible."

"Not impossible, but usually not recommended. Or so I have felt. And I know for a fact that even _entry_ into Kaer Morhen is almost solely the prerogative of the Wolves, sorcerers and sorceresses, elves, the Cats, the Griffins, the Vipers, the Bears, the Manticores and the Cranes, let alone _living_ here as a Wolf's partner-for-life", concluded Ciri, counting the names off on her fingers.

"Hmm", was all that Lambert said, his eyes distant, as if lost in thought, a frown beginning to form on his forehead.

"And honestly, I can't blame them. Humans, for the most part, are cruel and selfish and evil - all they care about is an opportunity to have more power, more wealth, more lands - more _everything_! Everything that is convenient. They want to trick each other and trick other creatures - they hate and mistrust all other species and kill them without reason and without provocation, and they destroy their habitats, their homes just so that humans can conquer the _whole damn world_! As if no one else matters", Ciri went into a small but uncharacteristically angry tirade, a vexed scowl marring her young and delicate features, "I _know_ I ought not to speak like that - as Baba says, I am supposed to try and see the good in everyone and everything - and I _know_ I am part human myself - but most humans simply _disgust_ me! So full of avarice they are!"

She faltered a bit when she noticed Lambert watching her with his keen eyes, and swallowed. 

"Not all humans are wicked and selfish, Cub."

"Well, of course not each and every one of them! I mean, Aunt Shani is absolutely delightful - I _love_ her ..."

"No, I do not speak of Shani."

"Oh!"

Lambert sighed, then looked away towards the farthest horizon, his expression unusually wistful and soft, almost pensive.

"I know, Cub, that humans have hurt you and your family in the most grievous of ways. They hurt mine too, many times in the past. But they are not all bad. In fact, far from it. Most are good deep down, and most mean well too, even though the society blinds them with prejudice and unfounded beliefs. It's the richer, more powerful humans I am wary of. The commoners ... nah, Ciri ... they are just like you and me - trying to get by. And as you grow older, you will learn to see them for who they are - there was a time I used to regard most of them with suspicion as well."

He paused, and Ciri waited.

"You want to know the love stories of your pack members, hmm? Has your Baba ever told you anything about _his_ love story, sweetheart?"

"Something tells me you do not mean his first year or so with Ma", Ciri said wisely, her tone grave.

"No, I do not. Though I am absolutely thrilled that they found each other, and are now the best of friends. But no, as much as I love Yenna as the sister I never had, Geralt was never in love with her, nor she with Geralt, if you ask me. They are soulmates - absolutely they are - but not romantic ones."

Ciri shifted closer, and laid her head on Lambert's shoulder. The Wolf immediately pulled her close, hugging her tight to himself.

"No. Geralt's - my little brother's heart belonged to someone else. _Belongs_ to someone else."

"Do I know her, Uncle?"

There was a long pause. 

"Not her. Him."

"Like Uncle Aubrey and Uncle Sorel?"

"Yes. Like them. But Ciri - there is a reason why no one has ever told you this story before, Cub. Your Baba absolutely forbade even mentioning this person's name in this fortress. He would be furious if he knew I told you anything on this topic. _Anything_ at all."

"Why? Why did he forbid it?"

"Because his heart's broken, my Cub", Lambert's voice cracked, "His heart never mended, Ciri."

Unbidden, tears pricked in the princess' eyes.

"Uncle ..."

"It's alright, my Cub", he soothed, rubbing her back, "We'll find a way to repair his heart. We will. But you _have_ to promise me, Ciri - you will mention not a word of this to _anyone_ \- not even Granddad unless he himself broaches the topic - except to me and Uncle Esk. All right?"

"You have my word, Uncle", Ciri swore solemnly.

"Good. Now, this man - the man who claimed your Baba's heart - he was a human. _Is_. Is a human. He is a professor ... or he used to be when we met him."

"Wow! What did he teach, Uncle? Was he a professor in Daven? Some other city? What's his name, Uncle?"

"Easy Cub - can't survive such relentless volleys of questions", Lambert let out a short, gruff laugh, ruffling up Ciri's hair, then continued his fond reminiscence, "Yes, he used to teach in Daven. History, mythology, literature - those were his subjects, and he was a superb musician too. What a ball of inexhaustible energy and optimism he was. Never without his charming smile to light up the lives of everyone around him. His name ... his name is Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz."

And that made Ciri sit bolt upright, her eyes wide.

"J", she whispered.

"What, Ciri?", asked Lambert, curious.

"J. That's who J is. G and J. Geralt of Rivia and Julian Alfred Pankratz. Tell me more, Uncle! I need to know _everything_!"


End file.
